When an alpha Delta Force leader and a prosecuting attorney meet at a bondage club, which one will be the top and which one the bottom?
Slade Donovan has been a Delta Force team leader for years and the missions are beginning to wear on him. He’s been a Dom for longer than that, but now he’s tired of the string of faceless women and wants to find the right sub and form a permanent relationship. Someone who understands his life and can deal with it.
Kari Malone excels in her role as a prosecuting attorney but the iron control she needs to do it gets tiring. And her search for the right man is fraught with disappointments. When a friend introduces her to the D/s scene, she finally finds an arena where she is able to both shed her mantle of control and indulge in her sexual fantasies. She meets Slade, also a guest, and their brief connection is instant and intense.
Five years pass before they meet again. By now, as Butterfly Kari has created an alternative life for herself at The Edge, a very private bondage club. Her search for the right man falters when she realises none of them can compete with the memory of the man she met in Chicago. When Slade turns up at The Edge it’s apparent from “Hello” that the heat between them has been simmering all this time and is about to explode. But can each of them provide what the other needs to make this work?
Reader Advisory: This book contains graphic descriptions of edgy BDSM play and anal sex.
Read an Excerpt
This excerpt contains explicit sexual material and is intended for readers 18 years of age and older.
This was what they did, he and the other three men who made up his team. The super—secret division of the Arm had counterterrorism as its main focus. This included the capture and elimination of terrorist forces, as well as the gathering of intelligence on terrorist threats, and, finally, hostage rescue. Although they’d completed yet another successful mission, as always, it had drained them. In the helicopter that extracted them they did little more than rehydrate themselves and try to let their brains unkink. Back at the base they’d all gone through debriefing, showers, a hot meal and fourteen hours of sleep. Now, after three missions in a row, they had some downtime. Slade had suggested they go back to his quarters and kick around ideas on how to spend it. So there they were, four totally alpha males, sprawled in the small room trying to make their tired brains work.
Slade pushed his unruly dark brown hair off his forehead, realising how badly he needed a haircut, and glanced around the room, hazel eyes studying each man.
“We could do something together for a change,” he suggested. They’d always separated, each of them heading to a different place then coming back with stories that kept them alert when they sat for long hours in a jungle or hidden in the cold mountains.
“You mean like the four of us going someplace?” Beau Williams asked. “How about California?” With his sun—streaked light brown hair and green eyes, the team had taken to calling him Surfer Dude. But nothing could have been further from reality. Beau was the team’s sniper.
Over time he’d managed to lock down his emotions so completely that Slade worried he’d never get back his human side—the side that related to people. Being a sniper required a mental discipline that only a few could deal with.
“Southern California,” Beau added. “Someplace flat and hot with miles of beaches and women in bikinis.”
Marc Blanchard, the team’s recon expert, snorted. “Why don’t you just lie down on the sand with a sign that says come and get me?” He turned to Slade. “You really think this would be such a good idea? You don’t think we’d get on each other’s nerves?”
Still recovering from a disastrous marriage, Marc was for the most part very private about his downtime and his personal life. The first day of leave he silently disappeared then reappeared when it was time to reassemble as if he had a built—in signal telling him when he was needed.
The fourth man in the group, spotter Trey McIntyre, rubbed his beard—stubbled face, unconsciously tracing the thin scar that ran from his eyebrow to his chin. It was the reminder of an unfortunate incident with a knife in a bar fight years ago.
“We’re all forgetting one thing here.”
Slade quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“I know we talked about this when we were camped out on that mountain on the ass end of the earth. We said, what a change it would be to go somewhere together where we can relax and unwind the kinks. But we’re also looking for a place where we can be comfortable with our sexual preferences for a change. We’ve mentioned it enough times to know we’re all on the same page.” He grunted. “And I, for one, am tired of trying to explain myself to women who only want vanilla sex lives. We have limited downtime and we need to spend it to its best advantage.”
“Ditto,” Marc said in a bitter tone.
The men all avoided looking at him. They were all very aware that Marc’s wife had walked out on him when he’d tried to introduce her to the life, repulsed and horrified by the things he’d described. He still carried some of the emotional scars.
“I’ll add something else in here,” Slade said. “None of us are getting any younger. We only have so many more years we can keep doing missions like this. I’d really like to find someone to settle down with. Someone who is into the life as much as I am.” He looked at Marc. “We all know what you went through, buddy. It would be great to find someone who appreciates and understands you and wants the same kind of sex life you do.”
“And exactly how do you propose we do that?” Beau asked.
“Come home with me,” Slade told them. “To the ranch.”
He owned ten thousand acres south of San Antonio, a place he’d bought at an unbelievable bargain price. It had become his refuge. He ran a small herd of cattle and kept horses he could ride fast enough and far enough to clear his mind.
“And do what?” Trey asked. “Hang out with the horses?”
“Some of the time,” Slade nodded. “You all ride. And they have great munches in San Antonio.”
They all knew he was referring to those gatherings where people in the lifestyle could come for drinks and munchies and to talk and meet people in a casual environment.
“Those are just a little too informal for my taste,” Beau said. “What about private clubs? You got an in with any of them?”