Here's another scene from my WIP, Southern Shields.

Alex looked up to find a patrol car in her rear-view mirror. She blinked as it pulled around to pace her on the narrow street. Frank gestured, and she lowered her passenger window. His face was expressionless, and he gave her cold cop's eyes. The kind of stare you'd give somebody caught doing a hundred in a school zone. But I wasn't speeding, she thought in pure knee-jerk reaction, and immediately realized he wasn't really pulling her over.

Not to give her a ticket anyway.

Which was why he hadn't used his blue lights and siren. That would have automatically activated the car's dash cam. Alex had the feeling neither of them wanted this little encounter recorded for posterity.

"Pull over." He stabbed a finger toward a set of tire tracks that led off into the woods between one house and an empty lot. She blinked, hoped her beater of a car was up to it, and drove off the street and onto the tracks.

A set of tall, ferny plants grew in a cluster across the trail, but she drove through them, trusting that Frank knew what the fuck he was doing. The plants bent in front of her hood, then sprang up again after she was past, only to bend again for the patrol car.

They'd provide a dandy screen to hide them from any curious neighbors who might otherwise wonder what a cop car was doing pulling somebody over in the middle of the damned woods.

Alex's mouth went dry. She had a feeling she was in for a rousing game of Bad Cop.

She'd had fantasies like this when she was younger. Not so much anymore—she knew too many cops, knew how relentlessly religious and conservative most of the local guys were. But she wasn't exactly averse to acting out those fantasies now. Especially with Frank in the starring role.

Alex bumped along the rutted track as it curved through the trees until Frank flashed his headlights at her. She braked and looked around. They were well into the empty wooded lot here, with trees and brush screening their cars from the road. It was the kind of place no smart woman would ever have allowed herself to be pulled over by anyone, even a cop. "Why, officer," Alex purred aloud in her best Scarlett O'Hara drawl, "whatever do you have in mind?"

She rolled down her driver's side window as he swaggered up to the car. Big, brawny, and black-clad—her fantasy Bad Cop come to glorious life.

Her panties were already soaked, and he hadn't even started yet.

Frank wore a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses and a scowl. Jesus, he looked menacing. "Get out of the car, please."

She put on her best Don't give me a ticket, I'll do anything, expression. "But sir, I wasn't speeding."

"I didn't say you were," he told her coldly. "Get out of the car."

She'd always loved role-playing, so she gave him big, worried eyes as she obeyed, closing the car door as softly as she could. That thump might carry otherwise. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything!"

"Quit trying to play me, lady. There's a warrant out for your arrest." He stepped right up against her, pinning her between the car and his massive frame. His voice dropped down into a low rumble she felt against her breast. Her nipples tingled, drew hard and eager. Dragging her over to the trunk of her car, he whirled her around as though to start searching her. "Says you're armed and dangerous." Pulling her little .38 from the pancake holster on her belt, he showed it to her with a threatening flourish. "And look here —you are."

She swallowed. Had he been anybody else, she might have broken out into the giggles right about then. But it was Frank. Frank who towered over her when damned near no other man did. Frank, who'd pinned her down and fucked her into a screaming orgasm just last night.

It was as if this silly fantasy scenario played out the same kind of inner truth. As if her body now recognized Frank as Dominant, maybe because he'd bested her the night before. Her instincts demanded she yield to him, as if he'd imprinted himself on the cellular level.

"I can explain," she said in a hoarse, ragged voice,

He gave a short, nasty laugh. "I'm sure you can." His voice hardened. "Hands on the trunk, feet apart."

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."

This isn't from LOVE BITES -- this is a taste of my Work In Progress for Berkley Sensation. I'm calling it SOUTHERN SHIELDS, but I'm going to have to change the name. Berkley doesn't like that title. sigh. In this scene, Alexis Rogers meets Frank Murphy for the first time, and realizes he's the dom of her dreams.
Good God, he’s huge, Alex thought, staring up at Frank Murphy as Cap introduced them with a flourish. She wasn’t used to being towered over, especially not in heels that had her scraping 6’1”. If he got drunk and disorderly on me on the street, I’d have to shoot him. Otherwise he’d kick my ass.

Of course, if she did shoot him, the rest of the female population would rise up en masse and lynch her. If anything, the man was even more mouth-watering up close than he’d appeared from across the room. His chest alone seemed to take up her entire field of vision. And she definitely approved of the view.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Alex,” Frank said, engulfing her hand in a big, callused palm.

“I can definitely say the same.” His eyes were deep and blue-gray, staring into hers in the kind of hypnotic Dom stare that made her want to give him anything he wanted. Especially if what he wanted was her. She suspected her smile looked besotted. Her nipples drew into tight points. His eyes flicked down to the tight silk bodice of her dress, then flicked up again, darkening hungrily. She swallowed. “Impressive flogging demo.”

“You do seem to know your way around a whip,” Ted observed grudgingly.

“Thanks. I sacrificed many pillows to the bondage gods for that knowledge.” Dominants were often told to practice their whip skills on pillows and stuffed animals. He grinned in a flash of breathtaking male charm. “Damned near lost an eye once, too. You can bet I never forgot those safety glasses again.”

“Got any references?”

“Yes, and I already checked them,” Alex told Ted, losing patience. He was deliberately trying to yank Frank’s chain.

Cap moved up behind her friend and clapped a hand on the shorter man’s beefy shoulder. “Come on, Ted, I’ll get you a beer.”

“I don’t drink when I’m sceneing,” the cop replied shortly, his gaze still locked on Frank’s in challenge.

“Then I’ll get you a Coke.” The ex-SEAL dragged him away. Cal rolled his eyes, gave Alex a wink, and followed them.

One thick, dark brow lifted, Frank watched them head for the refreshment table set up beyond the bondage gear. “Protective, isn’t he?”

Alex sent a smile after her friends. “Can’t seem to break him of the habit.”

A woman yowled. A male voice barked a command, deep and rough, the sound ringing over Jim Morrison’s throaty croon demanding that someone light his fire.

Alex had to raise her voice to be heard over the snap and whish of a flogger and the yelps of its target. “Want to step into the other room? We can’t exactly talk in here.”

“That depends. Will Ted feel driven to defend your honor?” Frank grinned, but there was no malice in his gaze as he looked toward the corner where, judging by his expression, the SEAL was attempting to reassure the blond Dominant.

She slid an arm through his, enjoying the warm play of his bare biceps under her hand. “I’ll protect you.”

“Well, if you promise….”

Alex laughed. “Pinky swear.”

“Got a deal. Want something to drink? I’m dry from that flogging.”

“Sure.” She followed him over to a cooler and took one of the canned soft drinks he handed her. Neither of them reached for a beer. Ted was right; only an idiot scened when he was drinking. BDSM was dangerous enough when you were playing stone sober. Besides, the whole point of kinky games was the pursuit of a different kind of high.

Rising to her tiptoes, she said into his ear, “Want to head somewhere quieter?”

Frank nodded. “It’s for damn sure we can’t negotiate if we can’t even hear ourselves think.”

The Millers’ basement was huge, running the whole length of the house. They wound their way through the dungeon with its bondage gear and party furnishings and across a short hall to the home gym.

Frank flipped on the light, revealing a treadmill, a wall-hung flat screen, and a set of free weights. A couple of thick padded mats probably did duty during yoga or self-defense practice. Or, knowing the Millers, sex.

Best of all, the room had a door. Alex didn’t hesitate to close it, cutting the noise. Frank was right; there was little point in negotiations if neither of them could hear what they were agreeing to. And once you were bound hand and foot and a big guy was standing over you with a whip, it was a bad time to discover you didn’t have the same thing in mind.

The skirt of her LBD was just loose enough to let her lower herself down on the stacked mats. Frank sat next to her, stretching his long legs out and crossing his booted feet at the ankles.

“I really was impressed with the way you helped Tara find subspace.” She popped the top on the Coke and took a sip. After she swallowed, she added, “Wasn’t surprised, though. Both those subs had a lot of good things to say about you.” She might be an adrenalin junky, but Alex wasn’t stupid; she’d called his references. It wasn’t a good idea to play with someone you hadn’t checked out, since BDSM did attract its share of assholes. God knew she’d found that out the hard way. “They said you play responsibly, push just far enough without going too far, and have a chivalrous streak that’s surprisingly wide for a guy who likes using a whip. And judging by the way Cap sings your praises, you may be his favorite person on the planet—except for Mrs. Cap, of course.”

“Cap’s a hell of a guy. He taught me the ropes when I was just starting out on the scene.” Frank eyed her over his Mountain Dew. “He thinks a lot of you, too.”

“Really? Cool.” She leaned back on her elbows, and didn’t miss the way his gaze skimmed the length of her legs. “What’d you think of my limits list?” The question didn’t sound quite as casual as she would have liked, though she hoped her tension didn’t show.

He grinned, flashing white teeth. “I’m shocked—shocked, I say—by your kinkitude.”

She grinned back. “Smartass.”

Some Doms might have been offended by the cheerful insult, but judging by his chuckle, Frank obviously didn’t take himself that seriously.

She liked that about him. A lot.

Sobering, he brushed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Our tastes do seem to align pretty well.”

She’d thought the same thing when she’d read his list of hard limits—things he absolutely wouldn’t do—soft limits—things he’d consider doing—and fantasies. It had read a lot like the one she’d written about her own tastes.

On the other hand, she’d thought she was a good match with Gary, too.

He studied her thoughtfully, as if sensing the battle between her doubts and her desire. “Why don’t we see how this evening goes?”

Alex blew out a breath. “That might be wise.”

He started to lean toward her, only to stop. “May I kiss you?” A polite Dominant never touched a sub without permission.

Her heart began to pound. “Yes.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’d like that.”

Hot approval flared in his eyes, and he lowered his head toward hers.

His lips felt just as soft as they looked, tasting of Mountain Dew and masculinity. One big hand came up to cup her cheek, his fingers long and strong and warm. His broad body curled around hers, making her feel sheltered, protected. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. She was surprised at how seductive it was.

She reached for him, feeling the hot flesh of his ribs under her palm.

And sighed, melting into him.