Masked Page 25

  “On your knees, rose.”

  He aided her by yanking on her scalp, positioning her between the chair and his body. When she was in place, he slid his hand to her jaw, pushing gently to coax her open. With his other hand, he freed the length of his dick from the boxers she’d just been worshipping with her touch.

  He touched the head of his cock to the warmth of her mouth. Groaned hard as her dark-red lips moved around him, pulling him in deeper…deeper…

  “Tess. Sweet one. Take all of me. Yesssss…”

  She matched his groan, especially after pushing his underwear aside to get her fingers on his balls again. As she massaged his aching sack, she worked his shaft with wet, hot strokes, surrounding him with the tight pull of her cheeks and the long licks of her tongue.

  “Damn,” he groaned. “This mouth is going to become my new favorite play toy.”

  His declaration made her wilder. She fucked him hard with her mouth, abandoning herself to bring him deep physical bliss. And she did. With every dip into her mouth, his cock was pure fire. With every withdrawal, it trembled in anticipation.

  He had to give her the same thing.

  No. It was more than that. He had to be inside her, a part of her. To seal himself to her. To mark her, body and mind and soul, as his. To fill her with nothing but his heat. To give himself to her as a lover, not just a Dom.

  With another groan, he pulled himself out. She looked up at him, eyes glazed, lifting a woozy smile. Dan kissed her, savoring the taste of himself on her mouth, before lifting her back up into the chair and spreading her legs wide. With their next kiss, he brought a hand up to explore the soft pink wetness at the core of her body.

  “Damn,” he rasped once more. “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you?”

  Tess shuddered beneath his touch, her clit trembling, her slit clamping one of his fingers. Then two. Then three…

  “Oh!” she cried. “Yes, Sir. Please…”

  “No.” Dan prompted her to look at him with a finger on her jaw. “Not Sir. Not Sexy. Not even the griffin. Let Daniel fuck you right now, babe.” He took her lips again, working his way over her with slow but hungry desire. “Let Daniel love you.”

  She smiled, looking a little bashful about it, until he moved his fingers inside her again. Her walls clenched around him as her head fell back, arching her body up into the streaming sunlight.

  “Holy fuck, Tess. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “No,” she whispered back. “You’re beautiful, Daniel. Your love makes me this way. Your domination sets me free.” She flashed him another of those lip-bitten smiles as she unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his chest for her eager licks, bites, sucklings, and kisses.

  “So good,” he murmured.

  So damn good…

  Until he couldn’t take the pressure anymore. His erection throbbed like thunder. His heart churned in a downpour of need.

  “My little rose,” he grated into the hollow of her throat. “I need to be inside you.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Screwing you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Satisfying you.”

  She sighed, rocking him with another Tess buzz. While giving him another gorgeous smile, she reached into his right desk drawer, pulling out a perfect foil packet.

  Dan laughed and then kissed her again. Her lips felt so good, all softness and surrender and love. Her mouth tasted so good, cinnamon and sex and woman. But best of all, her laugh sounded so good as he drawled, “My clever, clever little laser beam.”

  “Hmmm. You won’t be able to live without me anymore.”

  He didn’t miss a note of her saucy tone. Or an inch of her uncertain grin. That was why he kissed her twice as hard.

  “That’s the idea, Ruby.”

  Her insecurity faded. “So asking about a transfer to the Atlanta field office wasn’t hasty?”

  He growled while he rolled the condom on. “Not hasty enough.”

  Her eyes brimmed, liquid and gorgeous. “I love you so damn much.”

  “Ssshhh. No more talking. Spread your legs wider and let me get lost in you.”

  She did.

  And he did.

  At last, he was right where he was supposed to be. One with her. Buried in her. Uniting with her in the light only she’d been able to bring him to, with the perfection of her friendship, the courage of her honesty, the magic of her submission, the wildness of her love.

  He only dared to ask fate for one more addition to his want list.

  A lifetime to spend adoring her for it.

  Continue the Honor Bound Series with Book Eight

  Keep reading for an excerpt!

  Enjoy Honor Bound: Masked?

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  Excerpt from Mastered: Honor Bound Book Eight

  Chapter One

  Time had dictated a lot of Brynn Monet’s life. Watching it, abiding by it, dancing to it…and praying to it for better things to come.

  This was one of the prayer moments.

  Lots of prayer.

  No one confirmed that better than Shay Bommer as he drove a fist into the living room wall of the suburban Las Vegas home he shared with his wife, Zoe—Brynn’s best friend.

  But Zoe wasn’t here right now.

  The emptiness was symbolized to sickening perfection by the gaping cavity left behind when Shay pulled his fist out of the wall and stepped back, snarling at everyone in the room like a cornered animal. It took a while. It was a full house tonight. Eight other people were in the room, five of them legitimately qualifying as humanized Mack Trucks. The men had dropped everything to fly here for the guy who’d once served side-by-side with them as part of the First Special Forces Group. Brynna stood nervously in an opposite corner with El Browning and Ryder Monroe, the friends she couldn’t be without right now.

  The hole Shay just created joined two he’d already made. Brynn doubted anyone would blink if he destroyed the whole wall.

  Or maybe that was wishful thinking on her behalf.

  Taking out a wall felt like a damn great idea right now.

  Even better idea? Obliterating the bastards who’d kidnapped Zoe six hours ago.

  “Shay.” The word, hammered with command, was issued by the pirate hunk who stalked forward. Though Rebel Stafford didn’t have an eye patch or a peg leg, the comparison fit in every other way. Those shoulder-length waves of jet-black hair. Those eyes, shot with Caribbean-blue specks. That accent, laced with earthy Creole. Those tattoos covering both arms—or so she assumed. The formfitting T-shirt he wore over his camouflage pants prevented final confirmation—not that her mind’s eye hadn’t already re-outfitted him in breeches, riding boots, a tricorn, and nothing else.

  No time for the rest of that vision. Brynn would have been thankful for it if the reason for being here was anything other than this.

  Dear God. Why Zoe? Anyone but Zoe.

  Except no one but Zoe made sense.

  A truth that ravaged every inch of Shay Bommer’s face.

  “What?” The man spun and glared at Rebel. “What? Have you come bearing any useful information about where the fuck my eight-months-pregnant wife is, Reb? If you haven’t, then get the hell out of my sight.”

  A pulse ticked in Rebel’s stubbled jaw. If she’d blinked she would’ve missed it, so formidable was the man’s self-control. “Can’t do that, man, and you know why.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Not happening. You know I need to run through the details with you again.”

  Shay slumped against the wall. Brynn’s heart broke for him. In this case, “the details” only meant one thing: the horrific sequence of events between his wife’s bathroom break during their dinner date and the moment she’d screamed before being shoved into the back of a black van at the restaurant’s rear exit. Shay had sprung to his feet, bursting into the alley in time to notice only two things about the van before it sped away. One, it had no plates of any kind. Two, th
e driver maneuvered the bulky thing like a seasoned pro.

  “Damn it.” Shay exposed locked teeth. “I’ve told you everything I know!”

  “I know.” Rebel squared his shoulders. “But I need you to sit down, take a shitload of deep breaths, and then tell me again. I need everything you can possibly remember.”

  Shay dropped his head and dragged both hands through his thick chestnut hair, choking back a broken breath. “I…can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. We need more to go on. Something. Anything.”

  By “we,” Rebel included the guy right behind him, whom he was rarely seen without. Rhett Lange, call-sign Double-Oh, served as their battalion’s tech and covert-identity specialist. This was a fancy way of saying that, on the team’s most dangerous missions, his dependability was key. Nobody knew that more clearly than Rebel, who, as the “blow-shit-up guy,” needed rock-solid intel at every turn of an op.

  Brynn jerked her head, forcing the tangent away. Why the hell did she know all of that? Even worse, why did it give her the same adrenaline kick as her Teen Scene centerfolds wall from high school? Even right now. Especially right now.

  Focus, Monet. Focus on what you can do to help. Zo wasn’t just your dance captain for three years. She was your rock through all the shitty times—and the days that were worse than that. You have to be there for her now. You have to do something.

  Another silent but desperate plea. She was going not-so-slowly insane, sitting here in helpless dread and disbelief…

  A feeling she was no stranger to.

  Good afternoon, Brynna. I’m Officer Feld and this is Officer Smythe, Vegas PD. Sorry to pull you out of rehearsal, but I’m afraid we have some bad news. It’s about your sister, Enya…

  She was saved from the memory in the nick of time by the man who stepped up and pulled her back to safety—mentally, at least. Rhett Lange’s effect on her body wasn’t so simple. The man matched his friend for sheer physical potency—with one difference. He wasn’t a pirate. No other comparison worked for Rhett but Viking. Though no wild hair tumbled to his shoulders, the red tips of his short blond spikes lent an Icelandic flair. His eyes, the color of North Sea depths, were bracketed by rugged creases that deepened as he focused on Shay.

  “Reb’s straight up on this, Bommer. I can’t do a thing with what you’ve given me. Think. You’ve been trained to do this. Close your eyes. Focus. Can you at least tell me which way the van turned at the end of the alley?”

  Shay slid down the wall, thunked to his backside, and buried his head in his hands. “You mean as I watched them drive away with my helpless, screaming wife?”

  The room fell silent—until a small sob stabbed the air to Brynn’s left. She reached over, locking hands with El and Ryder. The woman who’d danced with her for as many years as Zoe and the male model who’d become the D’Artagnan to their Three Musketeers joined their desperate grips to hers. The connection was comforting but didn’t fill the void left by Zoe’s absence. Nobody knew her as deeply as Zoe. Enya didn’t count. Not anymore.

  Stay strong. You have to stay strong. Zo would do the same for you.

  She managed to keep from trembling—until a three a.m. breeze snuck in through the patio, threaded with enough of a March chill to thwart her effort. El began to shake too. Ry yanked them both against his chiseled chest—again, a huddle missing a key player.

  “Zoe.” El’s sob was broken with grief. “Oh, my God…Zoe.”

  Her cry yanked Rhett’s head around. As he took in their miserable clump, a grimace stabbed his soldier’s veneer. “Fucking bollocks.” The desperation in his voice, underlined by the accent clipped by both London and New York, reached into Brynn’s heart. “We have to figure this fucker out.”

  Rebel stalked back across the room. “Damn it, Bommer. I get that this is hell for you—”

  Shay surged up, a bestial sound bursting out. “You get it? Is that so? Then enlighten me, Moonstormer.” The call-sign might as well have been hot oil on his tongue. “Tell me what the hell you get. You go through a different submissive each month. You flog ’em and fuck ’em, with aftercare barely over before you’re eyeing the next skirt in line. Forgive me, asshole, if I have trouble believing how you get this.”

  Under other circumstances, the accusation would’ve earned Shay a black eye from Rebel, followed by the other guys in the room. Every one of them had dropped everything to be here for their buddy in his blackest moment. Rebel and Rhett had flown from Seattle with Garrett Hawkins and Zeke Hayes, where the four of them still served in Special Forces out of Joint Base Lewis-McChord. Another former battalion-mate, Kellan Rush, had arrived an hour ago from Hawaii—an odd sight, since Tait Bommer wasn’t with him. Shay’s older brother was also Kell’s best friend, damn near surgically attached to the man except for when he’d been hauled off for training in the middle of the ocean. Also taking part in that training were the battalion’s captain, John Franzen, and language specialist Ethan Archer. While awaiting clearance for leave from the training, Franzen and Archer had joined Tait in calling every hour to check on Shay. The coincidence was very likely a blessing in disguise. Shay was already crumbling at the seams. Tait’s presence would likely make that worse.

  As if the assumption needed affirmation, Shay twisted back, trying to use his forehead on the wall. After three attempts, he gave up. The mountains of his shoulders heaved with his breaths.

  Rebel filled in the other end of the composure spectrum. With barely a change to his stance, he calmly murmured, “Glad we got that covered. Do you want to talk about something that matters now?”

  Shay’s breaths stretched longer. “Left,” he finally grated. “I think they turned left.”

  “That means they went south.” Across the room, Rhett flashed a small smile. He’d clearly been hoping for that answer.

  “Out of town, then?” Ryder queried. “To California? Or Arizona?”

  “Not necessarily.” El added her knowing gaze to Rhett’s. Brynn looked on, hiding a bizarre bite of envy for their connection. Or was it that strange? El’s mind worked like a hard drive, able to process a thousand pieces of information and spit out a conclusion in seconds. It was the key behind her impeccable dancing, why she always got audition callbacks before Brynn, who performed mostly from her gut. Two different routes to the same result—except when that outcome was impressing a man as incredible as Rhett Lange.

  Focus! This is your best friend’s living room, not a damn cocktail bar. Phone numbers on napkins are not why you’re here.

  Getting Zoe back. It was the only thing that mattered—no matter what it took from all of them to do so.

  “The airport.” El’s hazel eyes favored dark green, betraying her anxiety. “Shit. They could have been headed for the airport, right?”

  “Airports,” Rhett corrected. “Not just McCarran. In this case, Henderson Executive fits that bastard’s MO better.”

  “MO?” Brynn looked from him to Rebel, who nodded grimly. “What bastard?”

  “Yeah,” Rebel muttered. “It does.”

  “What bastard?”

  El twisted her lips. “Homer Adler.”

  * * *

  Continue reading Mastered…

  Acknowledgments

  The Shadowlands Club used with written permission from Cherise Sinclair.

  Emerald and Mika, from Club Genesis, used with written permission from Jenna Jacob.

  There is something amazing—and scary—that happens when a writer moves past about book five in a series. On one hand, seeing your shelf fill up with all your stories is magical and amazing; but on the other, you wonder if you can keep doing it. Ha-ha! Filling that creative well can be daunting, and I remain eternally grateful to the writing friends who told me I actually could and would keep doing it. Victoria Blue, Piper Malone, Amy Rudolph, Lisa Simo-Kinzer, Christine Stanley, and Angie Barrett, thank you for all the hand holding!

  Carly Phillips: your wisdom and guidance always means so much. Thank you!


  And as always, special gratitude to the men and women of our nation’s military. Your selfless service is forever appreciated!

  A Special Bonus!

  Included here for free!

  Prologue

  Claire

  April…

  Oh my God.

  The words sprinted through my head, over and over, as I prodded at my lips in assurance I wasn’t dreaming. Or hopping dimensions. Or remembering the last half hour in a really crazy way. Or had hours passed, instead? I didn’t know anymore. Time was suddenly contorted.

  Oh. My. God.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Forget my lips. My whole mouth felt like I’d just had dental work done, tingling in all the places his lips had touched moments ago—which had been everywhere.

  My mind raced, trying to match the erratic beat of my heart. “Christ,” I whispered. My voice shook like a damn teenager’s, so I repeated myself. Because that helped, right?

  Wrong. So wrong.

  It was all because of that man. That dictatorial, demanding…

  Nerve-numbing, bone-melting…

  Man.

  Who really knew how to deliver a kiss.

  Hell. That kiss.

  Okay, by this age, I’d been kissed before. I’d been everything before. But after what we’d just done, I’d be awake for long hours tonight. Long hours. Shaking with need… Shivering with fear.

  I pressed the Call button for the elevator with trembling fingers. Turning back to face the door I’d just emerged from, I reconsidered pushing the buzzer next to it instead. The black lacquer panel around the button was still smudged by the angry fingerprints I’d left when arriving here not more than thirty minutes ago—answering his damn summons.