Chains and Canes (34 page)

Whatever else happened that night was up to him, and that was just right. Just perfect. Remy had his submissives. Naya had her husbands, and Daniel…

Daniel had his angels.

About the Author

Katie Porter is the writing team of Carrie Lofty and Lorelie Brown, who’ve been friends and critique partners for more than five years. Both are multi-published in historical romance. Carrie has an MA in history, while Lorelie is a US Army veteran. Generally a high-strung masochist, Carrie loves running and weight training, but she has no fear of gross things like dissecting formaldehyde sharks. Her two girls are not appreciative. Lorelie, a laid-back sadist, would rather grin maniacally when Carrie works out. Her three boys love how she screams like a little girl around spiders.

To learn more about the authors who make up Katie, visit
www.katieporterbooks.com
or follow them on Twitter at
@MsKatiePorter
,
@carrielofty
and
@LorelieBrown
.

Look for these titles by Katie Porter

Now Available:

Came Upon a Midnight Clear

Vegas Top Guns

Double Down

Inside Bet

Hold ’Em

Hard Way

Club Devant

Lead and Follow

Coming Soon:

Vegas Top Guns

Bare Knuckle

Club Devant

Watch and Wait

Pretty and Twisted

Blaze and Betrayal

No holds barred. No mercy. No going back…

Hard Way

© 2013 Katie Porter

Vegas Top Guns, Book 4

Throughout their eight-year marriage, U.S. Air Force Captain Liam “Dash” Christiansen and his wife, Sunita, stayed strong through long separations. However Sunny’s new job as a high-profile legal advisor puts a severe strain on their enduring bond.

Her abrupt announcement that she wants a divorce is like a missile to Dash’s gut—but her confession that she’s met another man is what unleashes his shocking passion. Sunny is surprised and nearly repulsed by her body’s reaction to Dash’s animalistic attempt at complete possession. That doesn’t stop her from craving more.

With Sunny’s whispered approval, their sex life explodes. Not only does Dash’s aggression tap into dark fantasies, she’s hopeful that now, at last, she’ll get what she’s always wanted from her devil-may-care, don’t-give-a-damn husband. Something honest and candid. Something real.

Yet fiery, carnal encounters won’t heal two long-broken hearts. Their bodies are finally speaking the same forbidden language, but it will take more than taboo desires to learn each other for the first time—and to save a marriage that’s only just begun.

Warning:
Time to put the kidding aside. Although 100% consensual between a husband and wife, this book contains violent sex that, in some scenes, will appear forced. Readers sensitive to rape scenarios should proceed with caution.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hard Way:

The quiet beep of her alarm the next morning was useless. She’d been lying flat, staring up at the coffered ceilings, where white-painted molding outlined boxes of pale yellow. Sunny had painted the ceiling herself. Liam had offered to help, but life kept getting in the way until she’d pulled out the buckets and the ladders while he was off at some exercise.

It hadn’t felt like a big deal at the time.

Lying there, she couldn’t help but see the contrast with
I would give you anything
. Maybe he’d give her anything when it came to his dick.

Too much of her wanted to believe he meant it.

She got up and went about getting ready for work—all the usual stuff, along with aching legs, stiff shoulders and a sore ass. The lightweight linen pantsuit was the best she could do to hide the evidence—not because she feared they might get caught, but because she wanted to keep their night close and private.
Theirs.

At least it was Friday. She would only need to hide it for eight hours.

Then what? It wasn’t as if facing a weekend alone with Liam meant she’d be healed by Monday—healed in any sense.

Emerging from the bedroom, she tingled with the same heightened awareness she’d experienced the night before when stepping out of her office. The hair stood up across the back of her neck and her hearing flared. She was prey leaving the safety of her den, sneaking out as if a taxi were her only escape route.

The house wasn’t exactly quiet. It ticked and sighed with all the usual noises of a house she knew intimately. The refrigerator hummed and wind whistled around the eastern cornice.

No sign of Dash.

He wasn’t asleep in the living room, so maybe he’d left early. He’d taken to folding the blanket and topping it with a pillow after crawling off the couch for each of the five mornings.

Maybe he’d… What, took a taxi himself to go get her Acura? Headed to base in some turnaround means of spiting her, leaving her to her own devices. One was generous, if a little over the top. One was too easy for her mind to latch on to. Dash, letting her down.

She curled her hand around the handle of her attaché case. The leather smashed into her flesh—not cutting, because the case was too well made for that. She could use a bite of pain to keep her jaw from locking.

Trailing her hand down the cool wall, she waited for something. The cab’s honk? A sign? So damn stupid. A few feet more and she’d be free for the day. She could bury herself in work and let everything else go away.

Just over three weeks now.

A pair of steps from the door, she heard him behind her. Not heard.
Felt.
The skin between her shoulder blades prickled. The air shifted and weighed heavily against her skin.

“Where are you going, Sunny?” His voice was low. Gravelly.

That
was what she’d been waiting for.

She didn’t look back. Her tongue slicked over her bottom lip, and there was no denying the way her body clenched and readied. A flood of moisture dampened her panties. Her expensive, pretty pink panties, which matched her lace balconette bra. She was such an idiot, holding on to secret hopes and wants that she hadn’t stopped to examine. She’d wanted to be pretty. For him. Just in case.

But she still played along.

“I’m going to work.” She lifted her chin and put as much attitude as she could into her words. She reached for the brass door handle. Let him come for her. Let him try. “You can’t stop me.”

That quick.

Between one breath and the next.

She’d turned the knob when the slam of their combined weight made the door shake in the frame. Her already-raw knees burned where they ground against the wood. The oval leaded glass shuddered.

He was bare from the waist up. Jeans were hitched around his hips, but what pressed against her torso and bent over her shoulders was pure skin. Smooth, healthy, tanned skin. He was warm with sleep.

She managed not to shiver.

His head bowed low, and he nudged her neck with his chin. Tousled hair tickled her ear. “You’re not going anywhere. Thought you would’ve learned that last night. You go where I let you.”

His bare foot shoved between hers, his thigh pressing hers apart. She tried to surprise him with her heel—lifting and slamming down. His reflexes were too fast. He jerked back at the same time as he pushed his upper chest more firmly against her back. She was pinned.

“You’re a mean little whore, aren’t you?”

She ground her teeth and tried to headbutt him. She caught him across the temple, but he didn’t even sway. Her insides clamped in a happy little lost-girl response. This was what she wanted. Being completely dominated meant she could give up her choices, let the world fall away and scream her goddamn head off.

She wasn’t going down easily.

After throwing her case to the side, she dropped to her bruised knees. Pain spiked up to her hips, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She kicked.

He caught her ankle. That grin. Oh fuck, that grin. It did wicked things to her pussy, making her heated and soaked and ready.

“Uh-uh, Sunny,” he said. “Don’t be a bad girl.”

She couldn’t help but grin as well, which quickly turned into a laugh. Maybe a giggle. It probably sounded hysterical. “Fuck off, Liam. Don’t do this. I’m going to be late.
Again
.”

He put one bare foot on her other ankle. She thought about trying to jerk him off balance, but he caught the direction she was looking. “Nope. Won’t work. You’re too small. I’m too well centered on my other foot.”

“You beast.”

His smile was positively lethal. She couldn’t look straight at him, but looking anywhere else meant swaths of bare skin and strong torso. He held her ankle at his hip in a seemingly casual grip. Lean muscles twitched and pulled.

“Okay, fine. You wanna play a different game, Sunny?” He spoke with latent threat. “I’ll let you go. If you manage to get all the way down the hallway without me pinning you…well. You’ll win. And you know what
won’t
happen.”

Her first response was
no
. She didn’t want to play. Because shit, he was right. What if she won? This felt like a choice, and she didn’t want choices.

But she nodded.

The moment dripped like cold honey—him watching her and her watching him, and her breath catching in her throat as she waited for him to blink and let go.

He stepped away from her ankle and released her leg. She flipped. Scrambled to her sore knees. Her elbows protested. Even a well-aimed donkey kick didn’t save her.

First she felt his fingers inside the back of her slacks’ waistband. The tight pinch across her waist snatched her breath. She tried to evade, slip sideways. He knew her too well. She slapped backward, connecting with his cheekbone.

He shoved her down. Her breathing jerked into overdrive. White stars bloomed across her eyes.

With his hand like a vise between her legs, he pressed his mouth against her ear. She’d expected his growl of victory, but she hadn’t anticipated the shivers it pushed across her skin.

“I win.”

They’ve got the sex factor in spades. But can love survive the “ex” factor?

Knowing the Ropes

© 2013 Teresa Noelle Roberts

Selene has harbored kinky, submissive fantasies most of her life, but her experience as a domestic abuse counselor leaves her leery of giving up that much control. Case in point: the ex-fiancé she didn’t love quite enough to test the limits of trust.

At a BDSM meet-and-greet, she sets out to learn how far is too far. Nick seems like the ideal dom to show her the ins and outs of ropes, floggers, and paddles—with no commitment clause.

After losing a sub he loved too much, Selene’s country girl common sense and smoking sensuality is like a dream that Nick never dared to have—a perfect blend of kink and long-term domestic bliss.

Yet it’s tough to figure out just how far they can push their limits when they’ve both agreed to a no-strings affair. Especially when an ex needs Nick’s muscle and Selene’s counseling skills to get out of a dangerous situation. By then it may be too late for love to survive all the things they’re afraid to say.

Warning: Sexy, kinky, geeky dominant guy. Smart submissive woman. Crazy ex. A little experimentation between girlfriends. And lots and lots of kinky sex.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Knowing the Ropes:

Selene found herself with Nick, drifting toward an early dinner somewhere. He had a place in mind but hadn’t actually told her where, and she found she liked the feeling that she’d put herself into his hands in this small way.

The more she talked with Nick, the more his cool blue gaze and warm smile distracted her, and the more she felt his body language sync up with hers. No, not exactly in sync but one step ahead, anticipating her next movement and influencing it, as if starting to mold her already. She watched his big hands, imagining them alternately caressing and slapping her breasts, her thighs, her ass.

She looked down at his feet when she imagined her fevered thoughts were too obvious in her eyes, then imagined herself kneeling there, naked, trembling, wet.

Actually, she didn’t need to imagine the wet and trembling part. Her panties already felt suspiciously damp and her knees were shaky.

They walked more or less in silence. Between traffic noise, noise from the perennial construction along Atlantic Avenue and the melting heat, talking seemed far too much like work. Even the breeze off Boston Harbor was sticky.

By the time they crossed a bridge over Fort Point Channel, she was wishing she’d worn flats, even if they wouldn’t have looked right with the outfit. She prayed that the restaurant would be an informal place where she could slip her shoes off under the table.

Once she saw the restaurant, her feet breathed a sigh of relief.

The Barking Crab was a tribute to the beachside clam shack. Rough picnic tables covered with butcher paper—they even provided crayons for doodling. A mix of fried and steamed seafood, with a few more sophisticated but still basic selections. And outdoor seating on the harbor, so she could kick off the damn heels and relax. “It’s a tourist trap,” Nick said, “but it’s fun.”

Soon they were drinking cold beers—he’d recommended the fascinatingly named Smuttynose, from a brewery in New Hampshire—and awaiting plates of fried scallops, fried calamari and steamed mussels. Selene hadn’t eaten a great deal that day and the frosty, hoppy beer was making her feel pleasantly euphoric.

Or maybe that was Nick.

She stretched out her bare foot, brushed it against his calf. Hard muscle under soft denim. Nice.

Yeah, Nick might just have something to do with the euphoria.