Bonds of Desire
Authors: Lynda Aicher
Bonds of Desire
By Lynda Aicher
Book three of Wicked Play
Lawyer Allison English never planned to return to The Den—despite her naughty fantasies about being bound by owner Seth Matthews. But when club guest Tyler Wysong is injured in a scene, Seth turns to Allie for help. Aroused by both men, Allie should turn the case down. But she can’t…
After his bad experience, Tyler has no interest in being with another Dom. Yet he can’t deny his attraction to Master Seth. When Seth offers him a place to stay, Tyler agrees—if Allie will stay too. But what good is a chaperone who adds to his temptation?
Living with two subs brings out Seth’s protective instincts, though Allie insists she’s not into the lifestyle, and Tyler swears he’s done with it. But the chemistry between the trio prompts them to agree to submit to him for one week, and he’ll show them both the true pleasure that a Dom can provide.
The intimacy could break them all, or bind them together forever…
For more tales from The Den
,
check out
Bonds of Trust
and
Bonds of Need,
available now!
89,000 words
Dear Reader,
Welcome to our July lineup of books! If I’m not on the beach somewhere while you’re reading this, there’s something wrong with life (unless you’re reading this in December—in which case, I hope I’m by a fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa in my hand). But no matter where you are while you’re reading this, I can tell you one thing: you’re in for a treat. (Sure, I say that every month, but it’s always true!) This month brings a fun mix of returning authors and debut authors, with fun, contemporary beach reads, some troublesome dragons, a few steps back in time, and characters in a race against time and a fight for their lives.
Let’s kick off with the perfect beach read. Make sure you pick up Christi Barth’s
Love at High Tide.
Beach reading doesn’t get much better than this. It starts with a beach rescue, continues with a beach romance, and has sun, sand, sexual tension and two characters you will love.
Maybe the beach isn’t your thing in the summer, but baseball is. Take a peek at Alison Packard’s
The Winning Season.
After hitting rock bottom, bad-boy catcher Matt Scanlon is traded to the team he’s loathed since boyhood, and he must confront a painful incident in his past before he can rebuild his life
and
his career. Once you’ve fallen in love with Matt, go back and read Alison’s debut romance,
Love in the Afternoon.
Continuing in the contemporary romance genre, we have party planner Tess, who can’t believe that hotel manager Jeremy could possibly be interested in her. She’s everyone’s BFF, not friends-with-benefits material. But he’s got more than friendship on his mind in Kate Davies’s
Life of the Party
, book three in the Girls Most Likely to… series.
Maybe you like your romance with a side of suspense? If so, check out Anne Marie Becker’s
Deadly Bonds
, and
Betrayed by Trust
from Ana Barrons. Two romantic suspense books, four characters in fights for their lives.
Or maybe you like your romance with a large helping of sexy times? If so, Lynda Aicher’s
Bonds of Desire
is the book for you. Lawyer Allison English never planned to return to The Den—despite her naughty fantasies about being bound by owner Seth Matthews. But when club guest Tyler Wysong is injured in a scene, Seth turns to Allie for help. Aroused by both men, Allie should turn the case down. But she can’t…
Joining Lynda in the erotic romance category this month are two male/male titles. First up is
His Roommate’s Pleasure
by Lana McGregor. Adam had no idea that his jock roommate was gay—and into leashes, paddles, and domination. And Adam, an inexperienced virgin who’s only ever kissed one guy, is surprised to find himself curious about submitting… Then Samantha Ann King returns with the follow-up to her debut romance,
Sharing Hailey.
In
Waiting for Ty
, too many beers and four long years of denying their feelings for each other thrust two men together in a lip-lock and a night of no-holds-barred sex that forces them to confront their greatest love and their deepest fears.
In
Sky Hunter
, the third and final installment of Fae Sutherland’s male/male space opera romance series, Skybound, the
Crux
Ansata
’s brash and rebellious ship mechanic, Jeret, finds himself face-to-face with a dangerous past he never thought to revisit—and the only man he has never been able to forget.
Looking for more books in the paranormal category? Start with Ruth A. Casie’s
The Guardian’s Witch
and
Desperate Magic
by Rebecca York. And for fans of historical romance, in Georgie Lee’s
Hero’s Redemption
, a widow and a war hero brought together by a scheme must learn to trust one another and accept the tragedy that links them in order to find love. Meanwhile, historical romance author Susanna Fraser, who can always be counted on to deliver a unique and unusual historical romance, returns with
A
Dream Defiant
, in which a black British soldier marries a beautiful English war widow, but he can’t believe she wants him for himself, and not merely as her bodyguard and protector.
This month Carina Press is pleased to announce three debut authors. Mystery author Patricia Hale will grip you by the throat with her suspenseful story of retribution,
In the Shadow of Revenge.
As children they witnessed horror and created a pact, as women they planned their revenge and waited.
Also debuting this month is Reese Ryan, with
Making the First Move.
When ambitious HR exec Melanie Gordon falls for sweet, sexy philanthropist Raine Mason, she discovers that his selflessness is driven by a dark and tragic secret that threatens to keep them apart.
And joining Carina Press with her Golden Heart–winning paranormal romance is debut author Lorenda Christensen. Fans of Katie MacAlister’s Aisling Grey and Light Dragons series will want to check this one out, and so will any fans of fun paranormal romances featuring dragons and heroines with a bit of backbone. In
Never Deal with Dragons
, the first in a new series, a human mediator bites off more than she can chew when she agrees to partner with an ex-boyfriend to stop a war between two dragon monarchs.
I hope you enjoy all of this month’s new releases. There’s certainly a variety to choose from, to keep you occupied no matter what your summer (or winter) activity.
We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to
[email protected]
. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.
Happy reading!
~Angela James
Executive Editor, Carina Press
www.carinapress.com
www.twitter.com/carinapress
www.facebook.com/carinapress
Dedication
To my kids, for understanding when I work more than play and loving me anyway. To Chris, for your endless support, encouragement and love. And to Rhonda, for talking me off the cliff when I wanted to jump on this one.
Contents
Chapter One
“Goddamn it, Deklan. We need to stop it!” Seth Mathews paced away from the screen, raked his fingers through his hair and spun back to glare at his business partner.
The other man held firm, his face a mask of chiseled rock. “Not ’til we hear the word.”
“Christ. He could be permanently injured before that happens.”
Deklan looked down, his hands balling into hard fists. He shook his head, the distress showing in the rigid line of his jaw. “Not our call. You know the rules.”
“Fuck the rules.” Seth swung around, barely resisting the need to punch something. Someone. “It’s gone too far. Look at him.” He pointed to the security screen, the evidence playing out in full color for them to watch.
Put me out of my
,
put me out my fucking misery
. The words screeched through the room, the heavy metal song seeming to say what the man bound to the St. Andrew’s cross couldn’t. The audio feed provided gruesome detail to the abuse taking place in the private room. That was what Seth called it. Because in his opinion, what they were watching had nothing to do with dominance and submission.
Every hiss and crack of the whip was like a stinging bite to Seth’s own skin. The stoic grunts and curses from the submissive a call for help that they were ignoring.
Deklan stared at the screen, cursed again. “How long have they been at it?”
“Forty-five minutes.” Rock pointed to the small clock ticking way in the corner of the screen. The video feed kicked on and off every time someone entered and left a private room. A trick of technology the security lead had engineered, along with the auto storage and backup of every recording. The ex-military man was a computer genius behind a battle-hardened front.
“If you don’t do something, I will.” Screw Winters. Deklan might oversee security, but it was Seth who dealt with the business fallout. And the Scene playing out before them was clearly in the realm of extreme edgeplay. “Consensual or not, this is not what The Den is about.”
He pushed around Rock’s chair to get to the door but was halted by Deklan’s hand on his chest. He glared at Deklan, willing the man to move before he was forced to punch him.
“Christ. It’s not like I condone it.” Deklan met his glare and raised it with his own snarl. “But we can’t stop every Scene we don’t agree with.”
“And if he’s injured? Then what?”
Jake entered the room on a wave of thumping dance music that clashed with the guitar riff screeching from the computer. He pulled up short, gaze darting between the both men. “What’s going on?”
“Bad Scene,” Rock finally said, his gruff voice filling the tense pause.
“Fuck. Who is it?” Jake slammed the door and strode over to the security screens. He shoved between Seth and Deklan to stand behind Rock’s chair and break up their standoff. He swore a blue streak when saw the feed. “What a shithead.”
Even with the mask covering the top half of his face and head, they all recognized the Dom on the screen. With over five hundred members, it was hard to know everyone by name. Well, except for Deklan, who had a freak-brain for details. But all three owners could identify the high-profile members on sight.
“What’s he thinking?” Jake voiced Seth thoughts. “Does he
want
to get outed?”
“He’d fuckin’ deserve it,” Seth mumbled.
Deklan jerked around, eyes narrowing. Seth glared back. It was the truth. The goddamn privacy clause in the contract prevented Seth from acting on the desire, and they both knew it. It would be club suicide.
“Who’s the sub?”
“Taylor Wysong,” Deklan and Seth answered in unison.
Jake shot a quick glance between the two men before looking back to the screen. “Damn. He’s a guest too?” The question didn’t require an answer. The black band on the bound man’s wrist clearly marked him as a guest to The Den. Jake scrubbed a hand over his face. “Has he been here before?”
Deklan crossed his arms over his chest and stared expectantly at Seth.
Well
,
shit.
Seth turned away. He didn’t need the scrutiny. The man might be like a brother to him, but Deklan could take his speculations and shove them up his ass.
A strangled cry yanked Seth’s attention back to the Scene. A deep, curdling revulsion swirled in his stomach. He had to swallow down his disgust before he could answer Jake. “Yeah. Many times, with different partners over the last six months. Master Rex seems to favor him lately.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure Taylor out. Even before Seth had dug through the man’s security file, he’d tagged his profession. The knowledge hadn’t stopped him from tracking Taylor every time he was at the club. Always a submissive, but never submitting. It was an interesting game to watch. The men who paid for Taylor’s services were usually too self-absorbed to see through his act.
But Seth saw it and the Dom in him ached to play. Only it wouldn’t be a game for him. Any chance of that happening was pretty much shot now. Not after the fucked-to-hell Scene Taylor was enduring.
“I’m done.” The weak admission was just loud enough to be heard over the heavy metal music.
“Like hell you are. You’re not done ’til I say you’re done.” Master Rex grabbed a fistful of Taylor’s hair and slammed his head into the wooden beam of the St. Andrew’s cross. In his bound position, there was nothing Taylor could do to stop his skull from cracking against the beam.
“That’s it,” Seth snapped, pointing at the screen. No one messed with the head. That broke every safety rule they enforced. He let his anger boil over, a preferred emotion to the desperation that ate at him. He shoved around Jake and Deklan and stormed to the door. “I’m stopping the Scene.”
“Right behind you,” Jake growled, already on Seth’s heels.
“Rock, get some men at that door,” Deklan ordered, the icy steel of command coating his voice. “And get the medics. This is going to be a fucking mess.”
* * *
Hiss.
Crack.
The stinging line of fire blazed across Tyler’s back. The acute slice of pain from the bullwhip stole his breath and blurred his vision. He tensed, prepared for the next strike even though experience told him to relax. It wouldn’t hurt as much if he breathed into it. Let go.
Hiss.
Crack
. Son of a bitch!
“You like that, boy?” A rough hand yanked his head back, the stands of his hair resisting the harsh pull that stretched his throat and threatened to tear the roots from his scalp.
“Yes, sir,” he gritted out. That’s what the jerk wanted to hear.
“You want more. Right, boy?”
Fuck no.
Not from a shithead like you.
But he couldn’t say that. His jaw ached and his teeth throbbed with each beat of his heart. It was the only pain he controlled. He bit down harder, his teeth grinding. The words he really wanted to say held tight behind his will.
A sharp tug on his hair snapped his chin up even farther. His back bowed and his chest dug into the hard crossbeams of the St. Andrew’s Cross, straining the muscles down his arms and legs. Spread and bound at wrists and ankles, there was zero room for him to move. Or run.
“You didn’t answer me.” Hot, rancid breath slithered over his cheek. Tyler closed his eyes and held still, overriding the instinct to jerk away. “That’s ten more for your insolence.”
The low, taunting laugh played with his memories and he swallowed back the acidic bile rising in throat. He could do this. He’d defied worse.
“Yes, sir.” The sharp bite of his response was lost on the other man. The part of him playing the role of Taylor Wysong, the submissive whore, knew he should be grateful. The Tyler part of him—the piece that was still real and whole—wanted his disgust to be known.
One hard shove, and his head was whiplashed forward, the painful hold on his hair gone. Taking the second of reprieve, Tyler sucked in deep, fortifying breaths through his nose. This fucker wouldn’t win.
He gripped the chains. The leather cuffs chafed his wrists, pulled too tight to be comfortable. But that was the point, he was sure.
The high, whistling hiss was his warning.
Crack!
Searing, hot fire streaked across his back to blend and throb with the inferno that already reached from shoulder to knees. Sadistic bastard. The growl tore from his chest despite his best efforts to keep it in.
The next nine strikes came at a pace that gave no breaks. Rapid, erratic hits scored his entire backside until his ragged curses mingled with the deep thump of the heavy metal bass that thundered through the room. Usually he could get lost in that beat. Today it only banged against his skull, driving his sorry condition home.
Thankfully, the white-hot pain was morphing into a general numbness that encompassed his entire body. Tyler sagged against the bindings, limp and finished. Sweat mingled with the warmer fluids that trickled down his sides and legs. Through his damp bangs he could see the splatter of red drops that covered the pale wood floor.
He logged one thought through the haze of pain.
I’m so fucking screwed
. It would be weeks before he could work again. Bastard. The agency had better cover him for this one. They had in the past, but he’d never been this fucked up before. They might blame him for this.
“Stop,” Tyler croaked, his throat raw.
“Like hell I will,” the john growled. The thick man stomped around the freestanding cross, his black boots invading the line of Tyler’s sight. Tyler winced against the violent tug of his hair that forced his head up. He glared at the man, letting all of the defiance and anger he couldn’t voice show in his eyes. He wanted to fight against the man’s hold. Hell, he wanted to beat the shit out of the man. But he couldn’t. The guy was his way out.
“We don’t stop ’til I’m finished.” The sneer contorted the man’s round face. Even under the half mask that covered the top half of his face and head, the evil showed in his eyes. He might fool the masses with his friendly veneer and polished finish, but Tyler knew the real man. Like the delusional Zorro, the politician thought he was safe behind his disguise. Untouchable.
“Fuck you.”
The fist tightened in his hair, his scalp screaming against the abuse, but the pain was minimized by the victory he’d scored. This john hated when he talked back. His old man would’ve called him an idiot for poking the bear. Tyler didn’t give a fuck.
This might be his job, but hell if he would submit to an asshole who didn’t deserve it.
The man leaned forward to lap a wet swipe of his tongue up the length of Tyler’s jaw. The venomous bite to Tyler’s earlobe wasn’t a surprise, yet he recoiled anyway.
“No. I’m going to fuck
you
, boy.” The poison leaked from the john’s voice in icy wisps that struck at Tyler’s defiance. “I didn’t pay for a pussy.”
“No,” Tyler grunted back, unable to stop himself. “You paid for dick.”
Stars bloomed yellow and white before Tyler, his stomach heaving at the vise-grip squeezed on his nuts. He choked back the sickness, his breath hissing through his teeth, his muscled strained to breaking as he resisted the john’s demands. He would not succumb.
Minutes, hours later, the man released his hold. Tyler sagged instantly, the chains clanking against the X-frame of the cross. “You sick motherfucker,” the john snarled, spittle speckling Tyler’s face. “You must really enjoy the pain.”
Too exhausted to reply, Tyler kept his eyes closed and searched for that elusive zone. The one he needed to find if he was going to get through the next part.
The musky scent of sweat mixed with the stronger blend of blood and the annoying lemon tinge that clung to everything in this club. The infamous, exclusive sex club, The Den. He scoffed at the thought. Yeah, the place was great for hiding people’s true natures. All of the deep, dark secrets they didn’t want the world to know.
Like the fact that the john who was currently preparing to fuck his ass had a wife, kids and a political career that would all be destroyed if this side of his life was ever discovered. Then again, Tyler was the sick one being paid to get beaten and fucked. Proud moments all around.
He braced for the coming invasion. Just a little bit longer and he could get the hell out of there. The low buzz from endorphins was masking some of the pain. It wouldn’t last.
“Wake up.” The command was followed by a hard slap to Tyler’s tortured ass.
Blazing knives of agony raced outward to wrap around Tyler. He cried out against the blinding fire that consumed him, the temptress urging him to surrender. No. Damn it. He wouldn’t give over that last piece of himself. Not to this fucker.
The nudging between his ass cheeks roused Tyler enough to grate out, “Condom.”
The man chuckled. “Like I’d fuck your loose ass without one.”
“Fuck you,” he breathed, the words unheard by anyone but himself.
Grunting, the john plunged forward, any resistance bypassed without care. Tyler inhaled a quelling gulp of air and held it to keep the sounds from escaping his chest.
“Not so loose after all, huh?” the sick man snarled, his pleasure twisted within the grind of the words and the bruising grip on Tyler’s hips.
Tyler became pliant, the ripping boom of drums and guitar setting the beat for the reaming. He could do this. Each dry thrust was a testament to his endurance. Blood did not make for a good lubricant, but it was better than the lube-free approach the bastard was taking.
His own dick hung limp. Getting off wasn’t even a remote possibility. Not that the bastard who was fucking him cared. Sometimes the johns did. This one never did.
“Come on, boy,” the john grunted. “Where’s your fight?”
Gone. Survivors knew when to play possum. If he ever wanted to walk again, now was his time to perform. It wouldn’t be much longer anyhow. The bastard never had staying power. Thank fuck for that.
Tyler grunted, a particularly hard thrust forcing the sound out of him.
“Damn it, boy.” Another slap landed between Tyler’s shoulder blades. “Fight me.”
The lightning knife of pain shot through Tyler’s chest to rip through his zone of acceptance. He jerked forward, his arms straining against their hold. “Motherfucker. Get off me.”