How do you stay standing when the ground is torn from beneath your feet?
Becket and Christian are taking the first, tentative steps towards the committed D/s relationship they both crave when the world literally explodes around them. In a frightening reversal of roles, Becket has to deal with his own vulnerability and Christian must find the strength to take care of his Dom. With the help of their friends at The Edge, the two men come to realise that dominance and submission cannot be switched on and off.
Events that could have ended in tragedy provide the catalyst that affirms their trust in each other, but there are still questions to answer. Is the safe path always the right one to take? Is control simply a state of mind?
One thing’s for certain, life’s too short for compromise.
Reader Advisory: This book is best read in sequence as part of a series.
General Release Date: 18th July 2014
The Underground’s stage was cleverly lit to highlight the chair set at its centre. Almost throne-like, the bespoke piece of furniture was made from polished oak and upholstered with padded green leather. The back had a cushioned middle panel and intricately carved side pieces, so it looked impressively regal without sacrificing comfort. The arms were wide and flat, lightly padded as well. At first glance it could have been an antique piece from a stately home, but closer inspection showed how it earned its place on the stage of a BDSM club. At the top of the backrest, a curved leather neck support and headrest stood proud from the wood. The seat was significantly wider at the front than the rear and subtly concealed within the leather was a circular section that could be removed. Brass eyelets were set at regular intervals down each of the chair legs, the sides of the seat and in the vertical wooden panels of the back. It was a chair made for display, for restraint and for some very kinky play.
Dave Becket leant back in his seat and watched disinterestedly as a blindfolded, naked man was led out onto the stage and positioned in the chair so that his arse, cock and balls were accessible. The Dom with him proceeded to fasten narrow leather straps around his sub’s limbs until he was secured in position, legs spread wide.
“The show doesn’t inspire you, Dave?”
Becket turned to his companion and shook his head. “Public displays don’t do much for me, I’m afraid. Any sub of mine will be kept for my pleasure, not the titillation of others.”
Carey Hoffman nodded his agreement. “I would never put Alistair up there, certainly. We seem to be in the minority, however.” He gestured at the crowded tables that surrounded the stage. “The shows are very good for business.”
Becket grunted and cast a glance around the room. The Underground was a popular venue. Membership was expensive and the serving staff attentive and pretty. For anyone seriously into the scene, it was the place to be. Becket attended when he could, though the demands of his job meant that his visits were sporadic at best. He enjoyed the atmosphere and Carey had become a good friend. There were advantages to being close to the club’s owner, including the prime position of the table the two of them currently occupied.
“Will Alistair be joining you tonight, Carey?” Becket grinned as a soppy smile fixed itself onto Carey’s handsome face.
“Yes, he will.” Carey glanced at his watch. “In fact, he should be here any minute. He had to go over to a gallery in the West End and check on the hanging of some of his work but he should be back by now. He’s probably upstairs changing.”
“He’s doing incredibly well with his photography, isn’t he?”
Carey nodded, his expression full of pride. “Since he won the Forbes prize, he’s been in great demand.”
“I read about that,” Becket said. “The youngest ever winner, I understand?”
“That’s right. It was an amazing achievement even though he tries to play it down. Alistair is very shy about his success.”
“That’s because you keep him so well grounded, my friend.” Becket took a sip from his glass of iced water and prodded at the slice of lime floating in the top. “What’s your secret? The two of you always seems so…content.”
Carey’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “It’s no secret and no mystery really. We’re compatible. We give each other what we need.”
Becket frowned. “But how did you know? I mean, was it love at first sight or did you grow together?”
Carey gave a short chuckle. “Fuck, Dave, your reputation would be shot if it ever got out that you were asking questions about feelings.”
“And what about you?” Becket retorted. “You’re supposed to be a big bad Dom but one mention of Alistair and you go all smooshy.”
Carey choked on his drink. “Smooshy? There’s a word I never thought I’d hear coming out of your mouth, Agent Becket. What’s this really about, as if I couldn’t guess?”
Becket’s face heated. He shouldn’t have started this conversation. Better to focus on the sub getting his arse whipped up on the stage. He was saved by Alistair’s arrival, the pretty blond immediately commanding all of Carey’s attention.
“Good evening, Sir. Good evening, Mr Becket.” Alistair leaned over to kiss his master then sank gracefully to his knees in front of Carey, head demurely bowed.
“I’m glad you’re here, Alistair, I missed you.” Carey ruffled Alistair’s hair gently. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Becket smiled as a delicate blush crept across Alistair’s cheeks. Carey wasn’t exaggerating—Alistair did look gorgeous. He wore skin-tight leather trousers in a shade of deep burgundy and nothing else, apart from the slim collar encircling his throat. He was slender and toned but not overly defined. Becket approved—he wasn’t into men who spent more time in the gym than they did in the real world. Cut abs were great to look at but Alistair’s sleek muscles were just as pretty.
Alistair looked up at his Master. “Is it all right if I get myself a drink, Sir?”
Carey immediately nodded. “Of course. Dave, would you like anything while Alistair is at the bar?”
“Another glass of mineral water would be welcome, thanks.”
“And I’ll have the same please, sweetheart.”
Alistair practically glowed at the simple endearment. Becket sneaked a sideways glance at Carey whose gaze was firmly fixed on Alistair’s neat, leather-clad arse as he picked his way through the tables to the bar.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Carey.” Becket wasn’t jealous. He could admire Alistair as a beautiful young man and a well-trained submissive, but Alistair wasn’t his type. Becket liked an edgier look than the boy-next-door wholesomeness that Alistair effortlessly exuded.
“I know it.” Carey’s focus didn’t leave Alistair until he returned with their drinks. “Thank you, love. Sit here please.” Carey gestured to a spot on the floor between his legs.
Alistair wriggled into position and leant back against Carey’s chair with a contented sigh. “It’s good to be off my feet, Sir.”
“Relax and have your drink, love. Dave and I need to pick up the conversation we were having before you arrived. Don’t think I’ve forgotten, Becket.”
Becket groaned. “I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
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