On Her Master's Secret Service (Masters and Mercenaries #4)(117)

“You’re not much better. Pinching me so hard it brought tears to my eyes.”

So he had. Totally unlike him. This stupid plot of Thorn’s wasn’t getting them anywhere, but he may be onto something.

“Key.” He held out his palm to Thorn.

“Ah, shit. Man, you’re going to uncuff her? She looks hot, bound and ready.”

She did. No refuting that. But Thorn couldn’t see the long-term benefit of uncuffing Brenna beyond the short-term benefit the view provided his dick.

“I’d hate to have to arrest you. You’d have to call your brother to bail you out.”

“Oh, hell no!” With another curse, Thorn slapped the key in Cam’s palm. “You ruin all the fun, you know that?”

“I’m the original party pooper.”

With a quick turn of his wrist and a few tugs, Brenna’s wrists were free. He untied her ankles. Just as she would have leapt from the bed and reached for the robe on the floor beside it, Cameron placed a palm between her bare collarbones.

“Not just yet.” Once he had her pinned to the bed, he said, “I am sincerely sorry that no man has taken the time or care with you to give you the pleasure you deserve. I’m sorry you have yet to figure out how to bring yourself to orgasm.” He brushed a stray curl from her cheek. “I know it must bother you. You must feel somewhat left out and…defective.”

Tears flooded Brenna’s eyes, and Cameron sucked in a shocked breath. He’d hoped that he was close to the truth, but hadn’t imagined that he was dead on. Her tears and pained expression said, however, that he was.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re not. It’s wrong for you to go on suffering needlessly. We will help you discover what you need to find fulfillment, if that’s what you want. But…” Cameron sighed, hating what he had to say next. “Thorn is right. We need your help in return. Lawton worked with a man named Julio Marco and others to traffic humans across the border and sell them into slavery. I was Lawton’s arresting officer. Thorn is his bail bondsman. We need Lawton to live up to his word to turn evidence for the state so the victims can have justice. He must come in and provide the testimony he promised. You’re our only hope of finding him.”

Brenna blinked. Tears ran down the sides of her face. Cameron hurt for her. She was clearly confused, didn’t know who to trust or what to do. He understood.

Cameron thumbed her tears away. “I would never want to hurt you. I believe we can help you. In return, I hope you’re willing to help us.” He leaned down and placed a gossamer kiss across her trembling lips. “Will you?”



For more information visit www.shaylablack.com.





Club Shadowlands


By Cherise Sinclair

Available now!



Her car disabled during a tropical storm, Jessica Randall discovers the isolated house where she's sheltering is a private bondage club. At first shocked, she soon becomes aroused watching the interactions between the Doms and their subs. But she's a professional woman--an accountant--and surely isn't a submissive . . . is she?



Master Z hasn't been so attracted to a woman in years. But the little sub who has wandered into his club intrigues him. She's intelligent. Reserved. Conservative. After he discovers her interest in BDSM, he can't resist tying her up and unleashing the passion she hides within.





“What is your name?” Her new host’s voice was deep, dark as the night outside.

“Jessica.” She stepped back from his grip to get a better look at her savior. Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.

“I’m sorry to have bothered—” she started.

Ben reappeared with a handful of golden clothing that he thrust at her. “Here you go.”

She took the garments, holding them out to keep from getting the fabric wet. “Thank you.”

A faint smile creased the manager’s cheek. “Your gratitude is premature, I fear. This is a private club.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Now what was she going to do?

“You have two choices. You may sit out here in the entryway with Ben until the storm passes. The forecast stated the winds and rain would die down around six or so in the morning, and you won’t get a tow truck out on these country roads until then. Or you may sign papers and join the party for the night.”

She looked around. The entry was a tiny room with a desk and one chair. Not heated. Ben gave her a dour look.

Sign something? She frowned. Then again, in this lawsuit-happy world, every place made a person sign releases, even to visit a fitness center. So she could sit here all night. Or…be with happy people and be warm. No-brainer. “I’d love to join the party.”

“So impetuous,” the manager murmured. “Ben, give her the paperwork. Once she signs—or not—she may use the dressing room to dry off and change.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben rummaged in a file box on the desk, pulled out some papers.