Knight Errant

Here's another teaser from my Work in Progress, SOUTHERN SHIELDS. Alexis and Frank are getting ready to do their first BDSM scene together.

Her lovely green eyes gazed up into his, a little dazed over those parted lips, so like silk against his. Her nipples looked hard as cherry stones beneath the snug bodice of her dress.

At least she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. He reached up, unable to resist touching one of those blazing curls. It felt like cool, raw silk under his fingers. He caught a whiff of pomegranate shampoo. “Tell me, Alex—what do you want in a Dominant? What drew you to the scene?”

She swallowed and licked her lips, still looking a bit dazed. He almost bent down to take her mouth again. “I…” She shook her head, as if trying to bring her brain back on line. “I like testing myself. Being tied up, helpless, while a Dom does whatever the hell he wants. The risk, the heat…It’s sexy. Seeing how much I can take when he tests me, tries to drive me past my limits with pain or need.”

He traced a forefinger across her lips, was gratified when her little pink tongue darted out to taste him. “And the Dom?”

She lifted her gaze, met his eyes steadily. “If my Dom wants me on my knees, I want him strong enough to put me there.”

He gave her a slow smile. Resisted the urge to flex. “I think I can manage.”

She smiled back in a wicked curve of scarlet lips. “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” The smile faded into seriousness. “If you’re looking for a 24/7 sub, somebody to call you master and kiss your boots, I’m not your girl.” Her gaze flicked down his legs. “Though they are really nice boots.”

“So you’re a brat?” He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He didn’t have the patience to deal with a lot of contrived drama.

“Hardly. I’m an adult. I don’t need somebody to spank me for being a bad girl. I’ve already got one daddy—two, if you count Ted. I don’t need another one.” She traced a finger over his pectoral in a delicate whisper of sensation. His cock bucked at the teasing contact.

“Then what do you need?” His voice sounded a trifle hoarse.

She hesitated as if thinking. Her brilliant green eyes widened, and she smiled wickedly, as if delighted with herself.

Alex wasted no time acting on whatever idea she’d just had. She rose in an abrupt lithe surge, despite the heels and snug skirt. Before Frank could even be impressed with her sense of balance, she started skimming the dress off over her head, revealing a lushly curved body clad in nothing but a garter belt and stockings. As he stared in stunned hunger, she balanced on first one leg, then the other to slip off the fuck-me heels. "I want you to prove you can master me. That way we’ll both know. Two out of three falls."

It wasn’t that unusual for a sub to undress at a BDSM party; half the women here weren’t wearing a stich. But Frank hadn’t expected Alex to strip during the negotiations, for God’s sake.

He watched as she started rolling the stockings down those endless legs. However he'd thought their first scene would go, this wasn't it. "Two out of three falls? Are you suggesting some kind of fight?" He didn’t fight women. Not if he could help it, anyway; sometimes the women had other ideas.

"More like a practice bout. No punches, kicks or choke holds —you'd kill me." Alex sounded utterly matter-of-fact about the whole thing. "Just joint locks and throws. And pins. Loser taps out of the hold." She looked up from rolling the other stocking down her calf. She'd bent almost double to do it, making him imagine all the possibilities inherent in a sub that flexible. "Unless you don't want to do it." Her lovely breasts swayed as she tucked the balled stockings into the toe of one shoe. Straightening, she considered him, the movement of her breasts downright hypnotic. Lean muscle flexed in her long legs as she braced her narrow feet apart. The girl definitely wasn’t one of those animated coat hangers like some fashionable starlets. Which suited him just fine; he liked a partner with curves. "Do you want to do it?"

His cock lengthened, on the verge of escaping his waistband. Frank ignored the demanding wave of hunger, intent on making sure he understood exactly what she intended. "So you’re not talking about me actually hitting you? Because there’s a big difference between flogging somebody with a deerskin cat and hitting her with my fist.”

She snorted. “I have no interest in trading punches with you, Frank. You’re too far out of my weight-class.”

“Yeah, I am.” He cocked his head. “What do I get if I win?” When he won was more like it; he had to outweigh her by more than a hundred pounds of pure muscle. That was aside from the whole Navy SEAL human weapon thing.

She didn’t have a prayer.

Alex grinned at him as if reading his mind and propped a hand on her hip, calling attention to those lush female curves. “What do you want?”

“You.” He showed his teeth and let the hunger leap in his hot gaze.

She smiled. “If you win, you get me.” When his head tilted in question, she clarified. “Sex. With a condom. However you want it.”

His smile broadened, and he started pulling off his boots. “I’ll win.”

“Maybe. I don’t intend to make it easy.”

He grinned up at her. “Good.” After dropping his socks into his boots, he rose, barefoot. And looked down at her from his seven inch advantage in height. Her eyes drifted down his bare torso to the fly of his jeans, which bulged from the pressure of his erection. “Naughty bits are off-limits,” he added quickly, imagining all the ways she could bring him down by targeting that hard-on.

“Well, not completely, I hope.” She looked around before he could come up with a suitably suggestive response. “Let’s put the mats out.” She bent and grabbed one of them, started pulling it into position in the center of the room. The sight of her round, perfect ass as she bent made his mouth go dry. Dragging his attention back to business with an effort, he caught the other and wrestled the bulky thing around beside the first one.

Frank straightened as she stepped onto the mat, falling into an easy crouch that, unsurprisingly, did interesting things to her breasts. He moved to face her, his attention on those pale, tempting globes. Her nipples looked as pink and tempting as candy. “What’s your Safeword?” The code words designed to let a dom know when something had gone wrong, whether physically or mentally.

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down. Green for keep going.” The stoplight system was commonly used because it was so easy to remember. “Stop,” ironically, was the one word that was never used, mostly because some subs liked to scream it when what they really meant was “Keep going!”

He watched her as she started to circle him, crouching like a knife-fighter. Frank felt a hot smile spread across his face. This was going to be easy—and deliciously arousing. He’d heard of a lot of inventive ways to scene, but this was a variant he’d never tried.

Eying her full, tempting curves, he lunged toward her, meaning to grab her and pin her to the mat. It wouldn’t take much effort.

She sidestepped, smooth as oiled silk, and snaked behind him. Before he could whip around, she seized both his wrists, planted one foot in the center of his chest, and fell backward, simultaneously swinging her long, bare legs up and across his chest on either side of his captured arm. They landed on their backs with her torso at a forty-five-degree angle to his, his captured arm trapped between her strong thighs. She had both hands wrapped around his wrist, extending it upward toward her chin, pulling hard and levering it across the fulcrum of her hips. If she chose, she could easily break his arm at the elbow, crippling him permanently.

And it hurt like a son of a bitch.

He tried to roll toward her, but she had his chest thoroughly pinned in the grip of her thighs. There was no way to reach her with his own legs in this position, no way to fight her hold, despite his far greater physical strength. It was a classic Juji Gatame, a type of judo throw and joint lock, expertly applied.

“What dan black belt are you?” he asked, despite the painful pressure she was exerting on his elbow.

“Don’t have a black belt,” Alex told him cheerfully. “I’ve just been studying Krav Maga with Ted for the past five years.”

That made sense. The deadly fighting style had been designed by Israeli commandoes from a hodgepodge of martial arts. Unlike Judo, Karate and similar fighting systems, it wasn't intended for sports competitions, but for use in deadly earnest against terrorists and others who’d kill you if given the chance. If you studied Krav Maga, you weren't fucking around.

Alex cranked back on his wrist, nearly tearing a yell from his throat at the vicious pain. "Tap out."

Not being a complete idiot, he did, patting the mat with his free hand despite protests from his male ego that were damned near as loud as his elbow’s. She released him, and he rolled to his feet. Alex did the same, facing him calmly despite the temper that probably snapped in his eyes. She met his gaze, unflinching, her own cool and watchful.

That was when he realized this was a test. "Smart," he told her, straightening his shoulders. "Better to find out whether I'm a hot-tempered, abusive asshole when there’s twenty people ready to come running if you scream."

She shrugged. "Well, you are pretty damned big, and a SEAL to boot, judging by the Trident you've got tattooed on your right arm. With my training, I can handle any guy my size or even a little bigger, but in any straight-up fight, you'd take me apart."

That stung. "I don't hurt women." Honesty forced him to add, "Unless they want me to."

"Abuse and BDSM are completely different. An abuser doesn't ask his victim's permission, and he doesn't particularly give a fuck about how much damage he does." She studied him. "Still want to play, or are you too pissed off?"

He lifted a brow. "So this wasn't just a test?"

"Not just, no." She spread her hands. "My last master was a bit of prick."

"He the one that demanded you kiss his boots?"

"Among other body parts. I'm afraid I'm not real good at being anybody's yellow-silk slave girl."

Which was a reference to the Gorean BDSM lifestyle inspired by the novels of John Norman, in which women were supposed to be not just submissive, but downright servile. It was a kink that had never particularly appealed to Frank, though he didn't believe in throwing stones at anyone who did enjoy it.

Deliberately, he unzipped his jeans and stripped them off, freeing his cock to bob at her in blatant testament to his lust. Stark naked, he gave her a slow, hot grin and gestured for her to come at him. "Let's find out what you are good at."