Michele Paulin

Handcuffs and Spreader Bars A Rawlings Men Story

By Kim Dare

Resplendence Publishing, LLC http://www.resplendencepublishing.com

Resplendence Publishing, LLC 2665 S Atlantic Avenue, #349 Daytona Beach, FL 32176 Handcuffs and Spreader Bars

Copyright © 2011, Kim Dare Edited by Christine Allen-Riley and Jason Huffman Cover art by Les Byerley www.les3photo8.com Electronic format ISBN: 978-1-60735-237-2 Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. Electronic release: February, 2011 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

To taking a chance, even after you’ve been hurt.

Chapter One

“How do you feel about spreader bars?” Harland Rawlings asked, his voice completely level and not betraying the slightest trace of emotion. For several long seconds the room was entirely silent. Harland was even able to hear the faint sound of his white scene of crime officer’s suit rustling as he tilted his head back to look up at the man looming over him. Detective Sergeant Alasdair Grant frowned down at him in confusion. “What?” Whichever way a man looked at it, it was supremely unfair that the guy could even make bewilderment appear hot as hell. Harland held back a sigh. “If you don’t quit wriggling, I’m going to fetch a spreader bar from my locker,” he informed the sergeant. “If I have to resort to fastening it around your ankles in order to keep you still, you’re going to be stuck here for the rest of the day.” Rising from where he’d knelt at Alasdair’s feet to collect a sample from the blood smear on the policeman’s trouser leg, Harland stood up straight. That brought them to almost exactly the same height. “I’ve already stood here half the damn day!” the sergeant complained, more than a hint of a Scottish accent creeping into his voice along with a good dose of barely repressed agitation. “Well, if you insist on rolling around in evidence…” Harland muttered, turning away from him to file the latest sample in his case, alongside all the others he’d already taken. “How much longer is this going to take?” Alasdair demanded.

“It’ll take as long as it takes.” It was the answer Harland always gave cops when they tried to rush him. And, Alasdair Grant was just another cop. Harland reminded himself of that one more time, just to be on the safe side, as he picked up another swab. “I have a job to do.” “So do I,” Harland snapped, as he glanced over his shoulder. “And my job is to collect the evidence—you know, all that neat stuff that you’re going to rely on if the case ever gets to court.” Alasdair’s eyes narrowed as he glared across the tiny office at him. He seemed to be about to say something else, but Harland had already heard more than enough. The cop wasn’t the only man there who’d had a long day. Turning back to face Alasdair, Harland folded his arms across his chest and returned the sergeant’s frown with interest, well aware that his features were far more suited to frowning than the other man’s would ever be. Stunning hazel eyes and neatly styled brown hair might be good for a lot of things, but glowering wasn’t one of them. Still, Alasdair tilted up his chin as their eyes met and it was obvious he was doing his best with what he had. It was equally clear that he wasn’t some novice little constable to be intimidated by a glare from an older man. When he offered another man his submission it wouldn’t be from a place of weakness… Harland pushed that thought out of his head as quickly as possible. “Let’s get something straight,” he said. “Until I clear the scene, all the evidence in it belongs to me and, right now, you’re nothing more or less than evidence. Understand?” Alasdair’s jaw clenched. Harland watched the pulse race under the faint shadow cast by the other guy’s afternoon stubble. That was pretty much the only kind of free movement the sergeant was permitted at that moment. His arms were required to be held slightly away from his body, his legs had to remain parted in order not to smear the evidence still clinging to his suit. It took far more effort than Harland would ever have been willing to admit, for him to turn his head and look away from the image of Alasdair so gloriously helpless. He glared at all the samples he’d taken as if they had done something to personally offend him. It had to be him. It had to be Alasdair bloody Grant. Of all the cops who could have tumbled in heaven only knew what while trying to arrest a suspect, it had to be him. It had to be the one man Harland had been itching to get his hands, and quite a few of his more interesting toys, on ever since the guy transferred down to the station.

Harland held back another pissed off sigh. If he could have told himself the other man was straight, or at least closeted, it would have been one thing. But no, Alasdair was out and proud, he just wasn’t interested. No, Harland’s habitual frown deepened further than ever, that explanation didn’t feel right either. Alasdair didn’t seem uninterested, just… Harland shook his head slightly. He was damned if he knew what Alasdair was. Picking up another swab, he ran it over the stain on the sergeant’s shoulder with far more attention focused on the task than it actually required. This wasn’t the kind of touch he had in mind while he daydreamed through the more boring moments of his day, and his thoughts inevitably turned to wondering if the sergeant gave good head or not. He certainly had the mouth for it. Strong and firm, with just a tiny hint of fullness in the bottom lip. “You have a spreader bar in your locker?” Harland replayed what he’d said to Alasdair inside his head. Hell, he really had said that, hadn’t he? Holding back a dozen different curses, he raised an eyebrow at the other man, as if to say ‘doesn’t everyone?’ Alasdair held his gaze for a moment, before looking pointedly away as if thoroughly disgusted. Great, Harland thought to himself. That was all he needed. First he had to forget he was already closer to forty than thirty, and develop some sort of stupid teenage crush on the other man. And now the guy probably thought he was some sort of perverted nymphomaniac. That was going to do wonders for his chances with him! Sealing the evidence bag, Harland reached for another swab. It wasn’t as if he’d ever seemed likely to get that blow job, but still it had been nice to think of the other man all tied up and ready to do whatever a more dominant man demanded of him. Believing there was at least a tiny chance of Alasdair being kinky enough to enjoy that had been fun. As he continued his work, Harland was acutely aware of the other man’s gaze following his movements, as if the cop wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything he shouldn’t while he swabbed and sampled his way over his body. Finally all the surface work was done and the guy had dispensed with his blood stained tie before any of the scene of crime officers had turned up. Harland’s next move was clear. He

reached for the top button of Alasdair’s shirt, careful to keep his expression completely neutral and all his movements professional. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harland met the other man’s eyes. There were a dozen different colors dancing in the hazel depths, but there was also a hell of a lot of anger waltzing with the greens and golds. Harland glanced down at his own hands for a moment, and at the latex gloves that covered them. “You’re wearing the evidence,” he reminded Alasdair, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “I’ll need to take it back to the lab to be properly—” “I’m old enough to dress and undress myself,” the sergeant snapped. That much was true. The guy couldn’t have been much younger than Harland was himself. Alasdair was undoubtedly old enough to do lots of things. Dress. Undress. Screw. Suck. Whimper. Beg. Alasdair was mature enough to know what he was doing. Experienced enough that he’d know what he’d be getting himself into with another man. And he was old enough that Harland wouldn’t have to worry about feeling like a cradle snatcher when he— Mentally rolling his eyes at himself, Harland forced his mind back onto the job. “You’re hands are covered in blood.” Alasdair lifted his forearms and studied his palms. They were indeed covered with all the same streaks and stains that Harland had photographed when he first started processing him. It was clear no argument could be made. Alasdair lowered his arms with obvious reluctance. Harland reached for the top button of Alasdair’s shirt once more. The little bit of plastic slid neatly through the cotton hole. One by one, the others followed. The pale blue fabric fell aside revealing some stunning lines of muscle. Harland quickly turned his attention to the cuffs of the sergeant’s shirt. Those buttons offered no more resistance than the others. Stepping behind Alasdair, Harland carefully helped him out of the stained fabric and set it aside with all due attention to detail and conscientious consideration for any evidence that might be on it. What Harland was very careful not to do, was stare in admiration at the half naked man before him.

He was a professional—a professional who had a reputation for doing a bloody good job and not taking flack from any cop that might carelessly contaminate his crime scene. He was not going to let that status slide just because Alasdair obviously hadn’t been slacking off in the gym. So he had a few muscles. Harland wasn’t a teenage boy who’d just realized that he preferred to flick through magazine full of pictures of naked, muscular men rather than silicon enhanced women. He could do this. Since the white coverall he wore was doing a sterling job of hiding his flourishing erection, Harland was even reasonably confident he could do it without Alasdair realizing how closely he resembled the actors in his favorite porn downloads. Turning back to the sergeant, Harland calmly reached for the black leather belt buckled around the other man’s waist. Alasdair immediately put a hand out to stop him. “I’ll—” “Stay still!” Harland snapped. “Isn’t there someone else who could do this?” the sergeant asked, his hand still in the way. “No.” “I can’t be the top priority here.” Alasdair’s words almost blurred together as he seemed to rush to get them all out in one fell swoop. “There’s a victim and a—” “The victim is in with victim support. Willis won’t even let Conrad in with her until he’s calmed her down a bit, and one of my female colleagues will be collecting the evidence from her anyway. As for the sadistic bastard you decided to roll around in the evidence with, he’s at the hospital. He’s not my problem. You are. Deal with it.” “I—” “Hands by your sides!” The order worked in a way that Harland was sure a polite request never could have. The rumors Harland had heard about the sergeant being in the military before he joined the police were entirely believable as he obediently snapped his hands to his sides. Soldier. Harland repeated to himself. That rush to obey made him a soldier, not a submissive. Pushing any leather-clad ideas firmly out of his head, Harland deftly undid the other man’s fly, as if he wasn’t the least interested in what may lay behind it.

In that second, as the back of his hand brushed against the other man’s crotch, interested stopped being the appropriate word. Fascinated was far more like it. In that moment, he stopped doubting if he was reading the other man right. It was impossible to doubt that his desire was returned. Suddenly, Harland Rawlings, the one scene of crime officer who could be guaranteed to take his work one-hundred-percent seriously and never break from his solemn expression, smiled.

Chapter Two

Detective Sergeant Alasdair Grant stared straight ahead as if his life depended on it. At the same time, he tried very hard to remember how to breathe. He was pretty sure his life did depend on him regaining the ability to do that reasonably soon, but it was a lot harder to force oxygen into his lungs than he remembered it being. Harland’s knuckles were still resting against his fly. He didn’t seem the least bit worried about the fact his fingers were pressed against another guy’s erection. Finally, Alasdair couldn’t take it any longer. He had to know. Tearing his gaze away from the opposite wall, he glanced at Harland’s face, desperate to see his expression and know the worse. The other man was barely an inch taller than him. Their eyes met perfectly. Then Alasdair’s attention fell to the scene of crime officer’s lips. Harland was…smiling? Alasdair quickly turned his attention back to the wall. There was a nail in it, and the vague dusty outline where a picture had hung there once upon a time. He traced the square with his gaze over and over again as his mind raced faster and faster. “Is it part of your job to grope the evidence you process?” he asked, as calmly as he could. “No, just one of the perks.” Bland paintwork forgotten, Alasdair blinked at the other man. Harland Rawlings didn’t joke—not when he was working. Hell, for all Alasdair knew, the guy had never so much as cracked a smile in his life. He looked away, then back at Harland, not sure how to take the sudden shift in reality. “If you’ve finished laughing at—” “I’m not laughing,” Harland cut in.

Alasdair went back to staring at the wall. No doubt the whole embarrassing episode would be all over the station by the time he went off shift. And to think he’d been worried the other man might merely find out he had a simple little crush on him! “Do orders always have this effect on you?” “What?” Alasdair tried to spin around and, frankly, gawp at the other man, as Harland finally took his hand away from his crotch and stepped out of his line of sight. “I didn’t give you permission to move.” Alasdair automatically found himself falling still. The knowledge was already in his head. He had to have permission to move—because he was evidence and all evidence belonged to Harland until the scene of crime officer chose to declare otherwise. Alasdair’s cock didn’t get harder at the thought of being owned by Harland, but only because he was pretty sure it wasn’t physically possible for that to happen. So much blood had rushed to his shaft, his head was already spinning from the lack of circulation to every other part of his body. “You didn’t answer my question?” Harland reminded him. “Do you like receiving nice, clear orders?” He moved back into Alasdair’s line of sight then. He wasn’t smiling as such, but the expression in his eyes still looked far from displeased with the world. He almost looked as if… Oh. Alasdair swallowed several times in quick succession. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was better or worse than being laughed at. It was one thing to imagine being whipped and screwed by the hot scene of crime guy when he knew it was never going to happen, quite another for it to become an honest-to-God possibility. Alasdair’s throat closed up. Breathing once more became something he used to know how to do. This was going to go badly, he just knew it. Everything always went to hell once reality got involved. He couldn’t do this. There was no way in hell he could submit to Harland. It would be like Carlson all over again. Every muscle in Alasdair’s body tensed at the possibility. “Sergeant?” Alasdair glanced very briefly at Harland.

Yes, some part of Alasdair spoke up, from the very depths of his soul. Clear orders did it for him. So did that tone of voice. So did the idea of being possessed by the other man until Harland had no further use for him. All those answers were on the tip of his tongue, his taste buds practically vibrated with his need to say them, but he couldn’t make them leave his mouth, not with the memory of Carlson suddenly there in the front of his mind. Panic spiked inside Alasdair as he felt the whole world spinning out of his control. “Are you going to do your job or not?” he snapped. Even as he watched, shutters seemed to come down over Harland’s eyes. Whatever interest the other man might have had in him disappeared. Any hint that Harland enjoyed being on the same planet, let alone in the same room as him, left the SOCO’s expression. Harland turned back to his little box of tricks without a word. Alasdair dropped his gaze as he mentally cursed himself. There it was, right on cue—his perfect ability to screw everything up and piss off the very guy who he wanted to please more than anything. For all the emotion Harland showed after that, Alasdair might as well have been a bit of evidence scraped off someone’s shoe and shoved under his microscope. But, against all logic, his cock still loved it all. Nothing Alasdair tried to think about produced even the slightest softening effect. It was like being trapped in that god-awful dream that had plagued him through his teenage years, when he’d spent night after night helplessly watching himself walk down a school corridor full of his classmates wearing bugger all—when everyone had turned and stared at him, and had suddenly known everything that he’d so desperately tried to keep hidden. Somehow, just by looking at him, they’d known he was gay. And, as soon as his cock started to rise, they’d known that there was something about being vulnerable and completely at someone else’s mercy that did more for him than the soft porn mags passed around by the boys in the locker room ever could. The only difference in this grown up version was that the school’s resident bully and captain of the rugby team had been replaced by Harland. Floppy blond hair had been shaved away into a near skinhead. Cute dimples had been exchanged for a serious glare and hard, square jaw line that actually needed to be shaved.

Skinny teenage limbs had disappeared from Alasdair’s adolescent fantasies in favor of a real man’s body with muscles and depth and enough carefully restrained strength to make his mouth water. Alasdair stepped clumsily out of his shoes and trousers at the other man’s command. Cold air caressed his legs and crept behind the thin material of his boxers. There was already a damp spot on the front where his pre-cum had seeped into the fabric. The scene of crime officer tossed a spare white coverall at him. “That should get you back to the locker rooms.” Harland turned away as he scrambled into the damn thing and frantically pulled the zipper up the front in an effort to hide his embarrassment. As the fabric settled over his body and concealed his erection, Alasdair felt slightly more able to deal with the world. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.” The other man kept his back to him and all his attention on his work, labeling one of the samples he’d taken. He should simply walk out. Alasdair knew he had forms to fill in and notes to write up. There were lots of tasks he really should get back to. He should get the hell out of there before he made an even bigger idiot of himself than he already had. Feeling as if he’d been thrown back to an age where he was incapable of having a conversation with a man as hot as Harland without making a complete pillock of himself was one thing. Actually acting like he would have back then, was something completely different. Harland looked over his shoulder. When he saw that Alasdair hadn’t left, he turned to face him properly. Then he just stared at him and waited for him to tell him what the hell he was hanging around for. It was a good question. Do you want to get a drink after work sometime…? He was going to turn out to be just like Carlson. There this bar I know that… There was no way he could cope with going through that again. A few of the guys mentioned that…

Alasdair was well aware that he didn’t have a particularly amazing supply of chat up lines at his disposal, but he looked across at the other man for several long seconds, before he realized that was an understatement. There was no way he could say anything to Harland, no matter how little flirtation and flattery was involved in it. Once had been bad enough. He simply wasn’t strong enough to open himself up to that sort of pain with another man, not even one who called to him as strongly as Harland. Turning away, Alasdair left without saying a word. Storming into the station’s locker room, Alasdair slammed the door behind him and braced himself against the nearest row of gray metal cabinets. “Someone’s having a good day…” Alasdair stopped glaring at the tiled floor just in front of his feet and glanced up. Conrad Rawlings smiled back at him from the opposite row of lockers, amusement and curiosity warring in his eyes. “Your family’s a bloody menace…” Alasdair shook his head. Conrad’s smile morphed into a grin. “Oh?” Somehow he made the word sound like an invitation to bare his soul in safety. “How the hell do you put up with such a sodding awful sense of humor?” Alasdair asked. “Ed?” Conrad guessed. “No, Harland, the SOCO,” Alasdair said with a half sigh, knowing he couldn’t strip himself down and dive into the shower until he either got some privacy or got his cock under control. Conrad’s brow was marred by a confused little frown when Alasdair glanced back at him. “I’ve never heard anyone accuse Harland of having any kind of sense of humor on the job.” Damn! Suddenly realizing he’d made one hell of a tactical error, Alasdair scrambled to shrug the whole matter aside. He managed a rather forced chuckle. “That’s probably because he’s not really very funny.” Conrad nodded as if that explained everything perfectly, and Alasdair was more than willing to pretend it did, too. He strode across to his locker and rummaged around in the dark recesses of it, wasting several minutes before he finally heard the other man leave the room.

A glance down between the various rows of lockers proved that he was finally alone. Stripping off the horrible white coverall, Alasdair didn’t waste another second before tossing it aside and grabbing a towel. Within moments, he’d hidden himself in the furthest shower stall from the door. There was no need for anyone else to wander down to that end of the room unless all the other showers were occupied. That wasn’t likely to happen before the end of the shift, and it wasn’t going to take Alasdair that long to get rid of his embarrassment. Hell, the way he felt right then, he was pretty sure he’d come the second the shower spray touched his cock. His fantasy man might have grown up over the last fifteen years, but right then his cock was caught up in the same teenage enthusiasm and impatience he remembered from when he was barely out of school. Turning on the water, Alasdair stood just out of range of the spray, impatiently waiting for it to warm up. Yet, even when it reached a reasonable temperature and he was able to step forward, the need to wash the blood off his hands stopped him instantly reaching for his cock. Alasdair did his best to hold back a frustrated sigh. But, as with all things that involved men like Harland, his best simply wasn’t good enough. The sigh soon escaped. Alasdair shook his head at himself as the hot water finally washed away all that remained of the evidence Harland had been so keen to preserve. It was stupid to feel guilty for that. The other guy was done with the evidence, and he was done with him too—Alasdair had ensured that the moment he opened his mouth. Evidence belonged to Rawlings for as long as he wanted it. And, even if it hadn’t lasted long, Alasdair had belonged to him for a brief little moment in time, too. That was over now, but if it wasn’t over then… Alasdair let his eyes drop closed. Pushing every hint of reality out of his mind, he allowed real life to fade away, and who he really was went with it. Just for a few minutes, Alasdair let himself believe there was some way in hell he wouldn’t screw up anything that could possibly happen between him and a man like Harland. Images flashed against the inside of his eyelids—pictures of Harland standing as naked as Alasdair was right then, all hard muscle, hard attitude and even harder cock. It was so easy for him to imagine Harland bending him over that desk where he’d arranged his evidence kit, holding him still for a far more intimate kind of examination than mere

surface swabs and samples. He could almost feel the slicked fingers sliding inside him and dancing against his prostate. The moment that fantasy started to fade, another took its place—Harland taking his handcuffs off him by force and using them in ways that weren’t taught in any kind of police training Alasdair had received. Another second brought another fantasy—Harland with a whip in his hand and a smile on his lips as he lifted the leather and let it fall across his back again and again. Image by image, Harland Rawlings stepped up and took complete control of Alastair’s fantasies the way he had so often since they met. Only this time, the other man’s touch was still lingering against Alasdair’s skin while the pictures rushed through his mind. The evidence might have been washed away, but every inch of skin Harland had touched tingled under the spray from the shower as Alasdair’s hand worked faster and faster around his shaft. His brain shut up shop, leaving him with just one last thought before it went off duty—it wasn’t his hand that was jacking him off, it was Harland’s. A shudder ran through Alasdair’s body. His hips rocked forward, pushing his cock into his fist again and again. His left hand sprung up and covered his mouth, just the way Harland’s did in his dreams. When he might have given into the temptation to cry out, his palm silenced the scream that could so easily have brought a dozen cops running in to help a colleague in distress. Dropping both his hands to his sides as the brief moment of pleasure drained away, Alasdair leaned back against the cracked wall tiles of the shower cubicle. It was pointless to try to cling to the fantasy a second longer. It had got him off. The only thing it could do after that was hurt him. He’d learned that the hard way. Alasdair shook his head at himself. He was better off with his own hand. There was no way in hell he could make a go of anything with Harland, and he wasn’t sure he had it in him to survive failing at another relationship which involved handing over that sort of control to another man. Dipping his head forward, Alasdair let the water run through his hair and down over his face. Opening his eyes, he blinked through the spray and stared down at the drain at the bottom

of the stall. If only it was as easy to wash the desire to submit out of his head as it had been to wash the evidence of that brawl off his skin. **** “What have you been saying to Alasdair?” Harland didn’t even bother to turn around. Conrad on one of his bloody rescue missions, was the last thing he needed right then. “I’m fine. Sergeant Grant’s fine too. Go fuss over Willis if you’re bored.” “Alasdair’s not fine.” Rolling his eyes heavenward and wishing, not for the first time in his life, he was an only child whose parents were only children back several generations, Harland turned to face his cousin. “Alasdair is a grown man. He doesn’t need to be rescued.” “I’m not rescuing him,” Conrad corrected, patiently, as he leaned against the wall just inside the door. “I don’t do that anymore, remember?” Harland glared at him, but that had never been a particularly successful strategy with Conrad. His cousin stayed right where he was, obviously not the least bit intimidated. A disgruntled noise escaped from the back of Harland’s throat. “Okay. Say your piece and get it over with.” “Rumor has it he’s had bloody awful luck with men. His ex was a right bastard.” “And I need to know that because?” Harland bit out. It was blatantly clear he wasn’t going to be one of the men Alasdair was so unlucky with. Having that fact thrown in his face wasn’t his idea of a good time—especially not when he was still hard behind his SOCO coveralls. “You need to know, because he thinks you’ve got a screwed up sense of humor,” Conrad replied without missing a beat. Harland scowled at him. “He’s right of course,” his cousin went on, not in the least put out. “And I know that because you’re family. But the only other guys who ever realize it are the ones you’ve attempted to flirt with.” “What?” Harland had half turned back to his kit, but he spun back toward his cousin then.

“You freak guys out when you flirt with them, especially guys like Alasdair who need someone to be careful with them and treat them with kid gloves until they get their confidence back.” I do not freak out guys who—! Harland stopped the words before they ever made it to his voice box. Perhaps, in hindsight, Alasdair had seemed slightly freaked out. And his hard-on being discovered like that might have made him edgy. Having to make a choice at an unexpected moment was a lot of pressure to put on a man whose past might make him doubt his own judgment when it came to men. Harland looked up. Conrad was still studying him carefully, a tiny little smile dancing around his lips. “If you’ve quite finished playing matchmaker,” Harland bit out. “Some of us have work to do.” Eventually, via much nodding and generally pretending to agree with whatever the other man said regardless of his actual opinions, Harland managed to get rid of his cousin. Getting his mind back on his work proved to be a more difficult task. He was still running everything he and Alasdair had said to each other over and over inside his head when his shift ended. And that same stuck record was still playing within his psyche as he turned up to watch the local police rugby team square off against the local fire station’s team that weekend. Alasdair looked good in the bright blue and white team colors. The tight shorts stretched across his arse perfectly when he bent into the scrum and he threw himself into the tackles with all the signs of a true masochist. As Harland stood on the sidelines, the normally serious dominant couldn’t help but smile. Conrad might have been right about one or two things. But, when a man got right down to the bones of the matter, Conrad only knew how to handle sweet little guys like Willis. His heart might have been in the right place, but he obviously didn’t have a clue what a guy like Alasdair would need in order to get himself back in the saddle. For just a few seconds, Harland’s smile turned into a grin. He glanced down at his watch. The game had barely started. There was plenty of time for him to dash home and scoop up some supplies…

Chapter Three

Alasdair rubbed absentmindedly at his sore muscles as he finally made his way toward the changing rooms set between the rugby pitch and the car park. He reached the old brick building just in time to wave goodbye to his team mates as they headed to the pub for the after match analysis. Damn near every one of them clapped him on the back and told him to hurry after them as they passed. Alasdair managed to keep a smile pinned to his lips, but each congratulation only made his body ache more. Being man of the match might have perks but, for him at least, being flirted with by a local reporter for so long his muscles were starting to cramp from standing out in the cold wasn’t one of them. Alasdair shook his head. If the woman’s top had been cut any lower, she’d have caught pneumonia on the sidelines. And if she’d hinted how much she liked a man wearing rugby kit any harder, he wouldn’t have been able to keep the announcement of their new sponsor and the new colors they would be wearing the following week even vaguely polite. He had a horrible suspicion that he was getting too old for all of this. A sudden bang behind Alasdair made him jump as he stepped into the locker room. Spinning around, he realized it was the sound of the outer door slamming shut. The sound of something rattling, like a key being turned, floated through to him. “Hey,” he called. “There’s still someone…in…here…” His words died a slow, painful death as Harland stepped into view. “I thought everyone had left,” Alasdair eventually managed to say, although each word sounded as if it was rasped out through a throat lined with sandpaper. “They have,” Harland said.

Alasdair dropped his gaze. His eyes fell on the keys in the other man’s hands. His mind scrolled back to the sound of a lock turning over. “The grounds man is an old friend of mine,” Harland said. “He was more than happy to go off to the pub with the others and let someone else lock up for a change.” Alasdair swallowed. Harland stepped forward. Soon, there was less than a yard of mud streaked tile flooring between them. Considering Alasdair had run around the pitch for the full duration of the game without any trouble at all, he had to wonder why the hell his body would pick that moment to decide to freeze up and refuse to move a single inch. He was helpless to run away as Harland came closer and closer. The SOCO officer ran a fingertip down Alasdair’s arm. It came away streaked with mud. “You just can’t resist rolling around in things, can you?” he asked, rubbing his fingertips together as if conducting some sort of weird forensic examination right there in the locker room. I was playing rugby, you bloody idiot. Mud is part and parcel of the game! Somehow those words completely failed to leave Alasdair’s mouth. He remained rooted to the spot as the other man turned away from him and strode over to the long line of battered lockers on the other side of the room. He watched, unable to do anything else, as Harland unlocked one and took something out of the dark, shadowy space. A spreader bar. It was a sodding spreader bar. Alasdair stared at it, unable to believe his eyes for several long seconds. Harland had actually brought a spreader bar with him. Finally, he regained the ability to speak. “What the hell do you think—?” “Shut up.” Alasdair opened and closed his mouth, but the order was given so calmly, there didn’t seem to be any sensible objection to it. “I didn’t come in here to listen to you making excuses,” Harland informed him. “I told you once before that I’d put you in a set of spreader bars if you didn’t do as you were told and let me deal with the mess you’ve been rolling around in without interruption, didn’t I?” Alasdair blinked at him. “The appropriate answer, is ‘yes, sir.” “Yes, sir.” The words were out before Alasdair could stop them. He was pretty sure it would have been far more appropriate to tell the other man to piss off. Harland had no right to

order him around and Alasdair wasn’t some silly little constable to be intimidated by his first encounter with a dominant man—not anymore. But that was what Harland was. Alasdair had no doubt about that. Even if he hadn’t brought toys with him it would have been obvious. Everything about the other man screamed that he was a natural born leader, and everything inside Alasdair shouted back that he wanted nothing more than to follow Harland as fast as his soon to be bound legs would be able to carry him. Harland strode back toward him. Alasdair still hadn’t moved a single muscle by the time the other man reached out and wrapped a hand around his right wrist. A spreader bar wasn’t the only thing he’d taken out of the locker. A pair of leather cuffs connected by a long length of silver chain dangled from the other man’s fingers. The spreader bar clattered onto the tiles as Harland dropped it by their feet, freeing up his hands. A moment later, he had the first cuff fastened around Alasdair’s wrist. Lifting his arm Harland tossed the chain and the free cuff over the water pipes running along the changing room ceiling. There was just enough length in the connection between the cuffs for the second circle of leather to hang down temptingly alongside Alasdair’s already bound wrist. Even when he looked back, Alasdair was never quite sure if he lifted his arm of his own volition or if Harland guided him to offer it up to the second cuff. He wanted it so badly, it was easy to imagine him doing whatever he could to make it easier for the other man to tie him up. However it happened, within seconds Alasdair was helpless. Harland took a step back then, as if to point out that he didn’t need to stay close to him in order to have complete control of the situation. Alasdair wasn’t going anywhere until Harland gave him his permission. Suddenly, anything and everything in the world depended on the other man’s whims. Alasdair was pretty sure he shouldn’t like knowing that. It was liking things like that that had made him get involved with the last complete bastard in his life. Lifting his gaze, Alasdair met Harland’s eyes. In that moment, comparing the man who stood before him with the only other man who’d ever wrapped leather around his wrist, felt ridiculous. Harland was in a league all of his own, and Alasdair’s cock had never been happier. If his rugby shorts got any tighter as he stiffened inside them, the seams would give way before Harland ever got around to taking them off him.

When the SOCO crouched down in front of him, Alasdair fully expected to have those shorts yanked down around his knees and feel the hot, damp air of the changing rooms caressing his bare arse as his cock sprang free. It wasn’t until the leather slid around his left ankle that he even remembered about the spreader bar. Alasdair stared down the length of his body as Harland calmly pushed his legs apart and secured the bar between them. The studs on his rugby boots gave him that fraction of extra height he needed not to be stretched out painfully by the bondage. The leather wrapped around the bright blue socks as if it had been specially designed to bind a man in full rugby gear. Alasdair had never seen anything more beautiful, but as soon as the cuffs were in place, Harland stood up and turned his back on him. He walked away as if completely dismissing him from his mind. Alasdair had never felt so helpless, or so close to coming just by looking at another man’s retreating back. “Where are you going?” Alasdair asked, unable to keep the needy little words silent. Harland didn’t even look over his shoulder. “I’m going wherever I want to. I’m not the one in bondage.” Unable to think of a witty comeback, or any comeback at all, Alasdair could only silently watch the other man collect several items from a sports bag on the other side of the room and try to ignore the voice screaming in the back of his mind, reminding him what happened last time he let a guy play these sorts of games with him. Harland was broad across the shoulders. Alasdair usually loved that fact, but right then he’d have cheerfully given anything in the world to see what the more dominant man had in his grasp. Even as that thought crept into his head, another one was hot on its heels—he didn’t have anything left to give. Whatever he had was already Harland’s to take as and when the dominant pleased, and he was pretty sure the SOCO bloody well knew it without ever needing to be told. When the other man finally turned around, the breath caught in Alasdair’s throat. Of all the things that he thought the dominant might have wanted to play with, he hadn’t expected to see a knife in his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he blurted out. Harland raised an eyebrow at him. “Sir,” Alasdair added. It was a stupid thing to tack on to the end of the question, but somehow the word slipped out and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

“I’m doing whatever I want with you,” Harland said, in that same calm, controlled tone of voice. “Not with a bloody knife, you’re not!” Harland smiled slightly. Except, somehow, that didn’t make him look the least bit less sinister or less disgruntled with the world than he usually did. His expression was more predatory than anything else as he stepped forward. Alasdair didn’t say a word. It didn’t seem a prudent move to piss the other man off any more than absolutely necessary. And to think he’d thought he’d gone out of his depth with Carlson! Harland turned the knife this way and that, letting it catch the light. It really looked as if the dominant intended to put it to Alasdair’s throat, but at the last moment, the blade changed direction. Harland tilted it so it slipped inside the top of his rugby shirt. For just the briefest moment, Alasdair felt the cold flat of the blade brush against his skin, then it jerked down, slicing cleanly through his rugby shirt. Empty air brushed against his skin as the material fell aside, leaving his chest bare. Half a dozen extra flicks of the knife, along various seams in his rugby shirt, and he was bare down to the waist. Finally it seemed safe to take another breath. His ribcage rose and fell and Alasdair was completely incapable of hiding the way his body trembled slightly as he crammed as much oxygen as he could into his lungs. As the condensation from the other players showers settled on his skin, Alasdair couldn’t help but think back to the last time Harland had all the control, when he’d had no option but to let the other man strip him down. Instinct suddenly made him pull at the restraints around his wrists as other memories crept into his head. But even then, it was impossible for Alasdair to be sure if that was because he wanted to be free of them or just because he really loved the feel of them against his skin. It was hard not to love the fact that they were a clear and undeniable indication that the other man was playing, rather than doing his job, rather than processing him. The restraints were surprisingly soft. They caressed as well as controlled. As Alasdair tilted his head back and looked up at them, the scent of the leather seemed to surround him as much as the actual material did. Even as a cold sweat broke out on his skin, something deep inside him purred its pleasure.

Nothing short of the cold touch of steel to his waistband could have pulled Alasdair’s attention away from the cuffs. He glanced down at the knife, just in time to see it slice through the elastic and the tie holding up his shorts. Three more flicks of the knife and he stood naked but for his muddy rugby boots and knee high socks. “And not a drop of blood on it,” Harland said, holding the knife so they could both inspect the blade. Alasdair swallowed as he looked from the perfectly clean blade to his former rugby gear and back again, wondering if Harland was aware of certain facts or if it was just a happy coincidence that— “Yes, I do.” Alasdair looked up and met the other man’s gaze. “Yes,” Harland expanded. “I do know that you’ve already been issued with a new kit with the new advertiser’s logo on it. All you have to work out now, is if I would have acted any differently if you’d needed to keep your gear in one piece for next week.” Alasdair followed the other man’s gaze to the scraps of cloth that lay discarded on the floor around them. Would Harland have torn them to shreds if he hadn’t known they were due to be binned anyway? The other man’s gaze was unreadable. There was no way to tell for certain. When Harland’s smile expanded far enough to actually show his teeth, Alasdair‘s breath caught in his throat. In that moment, it was almost impossible to believe that the more dominant man wouldn’t have done anything he wanted to have done with him and loved every second of it. Almost impossible. If he hadn’t been careful, he could have easily cut his skin as he sliced through his clothes. But he’d taken care not to do that, even though Alasdair was in no position to complain if he had. Carlson wouldn’t have bothered with those kinds of niceties. Harland could do anything he wanted with him, but all at once, Alastair wondered if the other man really wanted to use him, abuse him and throw him away, or if it was actually possible that a dominant could really want something else.

Whatever his intent, all Alasdair could do was stand there, his cock hard and curving up toward his stomach, his breaths shallow and uneven, while Harland walked around him, leisurely inspecting him from every angle. “If you’re one of those guys who gets off on being put down, you’re going to be disappointed,” the dominant suddenly announced. “What?” A hand connected sharply with Alasdair’s arse. “What, sir?” he corrected. “If you like your flaws being pointed out and being punished for them, you’ll have to find another guy to tie you up, because I don’t see anything here that I don’t like a great deal.” Harland’s hand ran down Alasdair’s back as he said it. With his legs spread wide apart, there was nothing Alasdair could do to stop Harland’s fingers from sliding right down between his cheeks and across his hole. “No, sir,” Alasdair managed to say. “Humiliation isn’t my thing.” He swallowed rapidly. It had just been Carlson’s thing. “Good,” Harland said as his finger circled Alasdair’s hole again and again, applying just the slightest pressure. Alasdair managed to resist for less than a minute before he began to push back, trying to get more. Harland’s hands instantly disappeared. Alasdair closed his eyes as he took a deep breath and cursed himself for losing the other man’s touch with his stupidity. Hours seemed to pass without any contact between them. Then, without the slightest warning, hot wetness brushed across Alasdair’s face. He quickly pulled back as he blinked open his eyes. “I told you I was going to clean you up,” Harland reminded him. Alasdair glanced from the washcloth to the completely serious looking dominant and back again. He didn’t appear to be joking. A slight frown lingered on the SOCO’s forehead as he wiped the cloth over Alasdair’s face again. His touch was firm, but there was a strange sort of gentleness in it that took Alasdair off guard. “If you’re some sort of clean freak, you could have just waited until I had my shower, and screwed me then,” he pointed out.

Apparently still completely focused on his task, Harland didn’t answer for several long seconds, but his hand didn’t waste any time before it connected firmly with Alasdair’s arse. It wasn’t a hard enough smack to hurt, just enough of a jolt to send a nice little shockwave to his cock and make him a little bit more desperate to come. “Sir.” He couldn’t have stopped the word leaving his lips for anything. “Ownership.” “What?” Alasdair only paused for a beat before he remembered. “Sir.” Apparently he’d been quick enough. There was no spank forthcoming. Alasdair tried not to be too disappointed with that. “My kink isn’t cleanliness, it’s ownership. I like to own the man I’m with. I like to know that he will do whatever I say and follow any command I give him, because he trusts me to give him the right orders. I want to know that he is mine to do with as I please, and there is nothing he’d prefer than for that to be the case. I like to own him.” Each word was said with complete confidence, complete certainty. They weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. Alasdair swallowed rapidly as they sank into his mind. His head spun as he lifted his gaze and studied the other man’s face. He knew he was a fool to even think about throwing himself back into the same bloody awful situation he’d sworn he’d never allow himself to lose himself in again. But no matter what logic said, it was quickly drowned out by a voice from far deeper inside his soul begging him to try just once more.

Chapter Four

Well aware that his every action was being studied and scrutinized, Harland made sure he didn’t pause once in his self-assigned task. He kept the washcloth traveling over the other man’s skin in firm, even strokes as the sergeant’s eyes roamed over his face taking in every detail. Alasdair didn’t offer up any information on his own kinks in response to Harland's admission, but the dominant couldn’t bring himself to be overly surprised by that. Unless he was very much mistaken, the other guy was hanging on to his ability to cope with the situation by the skin of his teeth. Voluntary honesty was too much to expect from him. Whoever screwed him over had done of a good job at it. That much was obvious to Harland as he calmly washed the mud and sweat from his soon to be lover’s skin. Alasdair looked like he’d much rather be dragged over hot coals than admit any sign of weakness, and some complete bastard had evidently convinced him that’s what his submission was—a weakness. Harland’s free hand tightened into a fist. The only part of Alasdair that seemed capable of being honest about anything was his cock. The rest of him was just along for the ride, willing to be tied up, but not ready to admit that he liked it, happy to be used, but not able to admit he took any pleasure from it himself. Harland’s habitual frown deepened a fraction as he added more water to the washcloth and continued to work his way down Alasdair’s body. The mud faded away under his touch, leaving the pale skin decorated with nothing more than a dusting of light brown hair. Taking care not to let any sign of lust into his actions, Harland kept his attentions to the other man’s body as clinical as possible. It wasn’t easy. The guy really was gorgeous in a straitlaced and completely unassuming sort of way. Out of Alasdair’s line of sight, Harland let

his lips twitch just a fraction as he admired him, but only a fraction. There was no reason for a full smile then. There weren’t any obvious physical scars on the submissive’s body, but the mental aftershocks from whatever the hell had happened with his ex were obvious now that he was looking for them. Conrad might not have had a clue what Alasdair needed, but he’d been right to think he needed a specific kind of mastery. He needed a dominant who wasn’t going to be scared off just because a mistreated stray barked out of fear when a stranger first approached him. He needed someone who would put a nice comfortable collar around his neck and teach him to walk sweetly at heel. And, more than anything, he required someone who was about actions rather than words. The frightened pup inside the submissive didn’t want a conversation. It needed a demonstration. By the time all the mud was washed away, Alasdair’s breaths were more than a little unsteady, his cock hard, curving up toward his stomach and leaking copious amounts of precum. Harland stood behind him as several silent seconds passed, admiring the muscles in his shoulders and down his back. Damn but he had a fantastic arse. One of his buttocks was reddening slightly where Harland had struck it some half a dozen times—hard enough to show he knew what he was doing, but not so hard the guy would feel any need to fear another spank landing on his arse. I can master you, and I can do it without hurting you any more than you enjoy. Even if the conscious parts of Alasdair’s brain hadn’t picked up on that message, Harland could only hope the baser, more instinctive levels had. Harland’s hands tightened into fists at his side as he fought against the urge to reach out and stroke his palm across Alasdair’s arse. He had no doubt the other man wouldn’t have offered one word of complaint if the man who’d just tied him up had slicked his cock, screwed him senseless, and walked away without even letting him come. Unless Harland was very much mistaken, that was exactly what Alasdair expected him to do—what he thought he was agreeing to by not refusing to play the game with him. Well, maybe Alasdair didn’t know it yet, but sometimes a sub needed to receive the unexpected. Harland walked around Alasdair until he stood face to face with the other man. Then, without a single word, he dropped to his knees.

“What the—?” Alasdair’s question died as Harland calmly wrapped his lips around the tip of the sergeant’s erection. A low moan escaped from the back of the submissive’s throat. It sounded almost as if it had been torn from the very core of his being. Alasdair’s head dropped back. Above the cuffs, his hands clenched into tight fists, just as Harland’s had a moment before. His hips thrust instinctively forward. Harland’s hands moved to rest on Alasdair’s flanks and slid down until his thumbs settled neatly into the dip where the submissive’s torso merged into his legs. Leaning back, he let the other man’s cock slip from between his lips. “No.” Alasdair blinked down at him. “I…” “No,” Harland repeated. “You still have choices and decisions that you are free to make. You can choose to stop this now. You can decide you want to walk away. I’ll untie you if you ask me to.” He paused for a moment to let all that sink in. “I have no interest in dominating a submissive who wants to be free. But whenever we’re together, I will decide what happens between us. I’ll control every detail. Understand?” He held his breath as he waited for an answer. Finally, Alasdair nodded. “Answer me properly,” Harland pushed. “I understand, sir,” Alasdair whispered, his voice already rough with an equal measure of need and lust. Harland held the other man’s gaze as he once more leaned in and took Alastair’s cock into his mouth. The submissive stared down at him, so vulnerable, so confused and so bloody gorgeous. A quick and easy blow job would no doubt have given the submissive exactly what he thought he wanted, but Harland kept his movements purposely slow. Maintaining a tight grip on Alasdair’s hips, he held the other guy still as he dipped his head and took him almost to the root. Short brown curls tickled his nose before he pulled back to tease the tip of his lover’s cock with his tongue. More pre-cum leaked into his mouth, hot, salty and addictive. Harland swallowed it down as he eagerly studied each and every visible reaction the submissive offered up for his enjoyment.

Alasdair’s breathing sped up. His abs twitched. Every muscle he possessed seemed to tense as he fought to maintain his self-control and not to come too soon—not to come without permission. All his joints were locked. He wasn’t trying to move. There was no longer any need for Harland to hold the other man still. Leaving the submissive to restrain his own hips, Harland wrapped the fingers of his one hand around the base of Alastair’s shaft, jacking him slightly as he suckled and licked the head. His other hand slid between the submissive’s spread legs and caressed his hole. A grimace crossed Alasdair’s face as pleasure seemed to build up even further inside him, and he refused to release it, even when holding himself back evidently made it feel more like a punishment than a treat to him. Harland didn’t relent in the slightest. He just kept pushing more and more ecstasy into the submissive, unwilling to back down during what could easily be seen as the first challenge to his dominance, whether it was by Alasdair himself or the memories that still lingered in his mind. Without any warning, Alasdair’s impressive self-control fractured. Breaking into a hundred pieces, it shattered and crashed down onto the tiles around Harland’s kneeling form. Alastair’s hips bucked, just once. He came, hard and fast, thrusting uncontrollably into Harland’s mouth while his hands and feet remained immobile. Easily riding out the other man’s movements Harland quickly swallowed him down, never once dropping his gaze from Alasdair’s expression. Damn, but he was glorious in his release. Bliss raced across the submissive’s face, but he didn’t once look at Harland. His eyes remained closed until he eventually fell still, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Finally, as he seemed to regain some fraction of his composure, he blinked his eyes open, and their gazes met. Harland let the softening shaft slip from between his lips as he pulled away and rose to his full height before the submissive. Alasdair lifted his gaze with him, allowing Harland to watch the confusion build and chase away the tail ends of his pleasure. A touch of color made it to Alasdair’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I—” “Don’t apologize,” Harland cut in, stroking the blush with his thumb. “I didn’t tell you not to come.”

The submissive’s words were nothing but the aftereffects of his last dominant. As far as Harland was concerned, the sooner they were wiped away the better, and he’d cheerfully be damned if he’d let his lover apologize for doing exactly what he wanted him to do. “I—” Alasdair began again. Harland cut him off with a kiss. Alasdair tried to pull away as their lips met, apparently for no other reason than Harland had just shocked the hell out of him. Harland ignored that. Sliding a hand into the other man’s hair, he simply pulled him back into the kiss. Running his tongue along the line of the submissive’s firmly closed lips, Harland let him know, very politely, that he wanted access to his mouth. He didn’t ask, though. Asking would have made it sound like he thought there was a possibility Alasdair would deny him something he wanted. Just as Harland expected, once Alasdair realized what was being demanded, he gave it freely. He quickly parted his lips, willingly allowing Harland’s tongue in to explore. The submissive gasped as he tasted his come in his lover’s mouth, but he didn’t try to pull back again. He hesitantly returned the kiss, each movement so very cautious, as if he expected to be slapped down for his cheek at any moment. Harland had only intended it to be a brief kiss, an enjoyable way to shut the guy up, but once he realized how much Alasdair needed it to be so much more than that, it was as impossible for him to pull away as it was for Alasdair to do so. He allowed their lips to linger together for several minutes, his right hand still holding tightly to Alasdair’s hair and the left enthusiastically exploring the submissive’s back, down to his arse. Finally, when Alasdair’s pulse felt as if it had leveled out and his breaths were almost back to normal, Harland forced himself to pull back and turn his attention to the submissive’s restraints. Alasdair didn’t say a word as he was released. Harland kept a careful eye on him, but the submissive had obviously grown used to bondage at some point. When he was freed, he kept his footing without any need of a dominant’s assistance. He rolled his shoulders and stretched out his legs, as if to work some stiffness out of the joints with practiced ease. It took all of Harland’s self-control to step back and nod toward the submissive’s locker and his clothes without reaching for him again.

There was no need to add a verbal order. Alasdair seemed to understand the silent look easily enough, and he didn’t need to be invited twice. He strode over to his clothes and quickly began to pull them on. Most of his skin had dripped dry as Harland went down on him and he didn’t bother to try to towel himself off further. Unless Harland was very much mistaken, the sergeant wanted nothing more than to get his jeans back on and tuck his cock away. He could almost hear the other man thinking that the world would be a much safer, a much more manageable place once he had done that. Just as Harland expected, the other man’s jeans were neatly fastened when he finally looked over his shoulder toward where Harland leaned against another locker a few yards away from him. “Want to tell me what the hell that was about?” Alasdair demanded, with a pretty good attempt at sounding unmoved and even faintly pissed off. “Apparently, you didn’t get the point last time I tried to tell you I was interested in you. I decided to be less subtle this time,” Harland said. Alasdair didn’t say anything in response. Collecting up the scraps of his clothes, he tossed them in the bin in the corner of the room with far more force than was strictly necessary. As soon as that was done, he turned his attention to pulling on his shirt and putting on his shoes. Apparently, anything he could do that might distract him from whatever was going on in his head was top of his list of priorities right then. Harland smiled slightly as he watched the show. Against all reason, he could imagine the submissive doing exactly the same thing in their bedroom, in their house. The fact they hadn’t even technically had a first date was irrelevant. The part of Harland that was drawn to the other man was much baser than the part that dealt with such petty details. Eventually, Alasdair sat on the bench that ran down the line of lockers. There was nothing left for him to do. “What happens now?” he asked. “What do you think should happen?” Alasdair tensed. “I’m not an idiot. I know the way this goes. You’re a dom, I’m a sub. It’s not about what I want or what I think should happen.” He paused for a moment as if debating his options, seeking out the lesser of all the evils that appeared to fill his head right then. “If I’m not working then—”

A bitter taste filled Harland’s mouth. “Knowing how one man has treated you isn’t the same as knowing how another dominant man would treat his submissive—how I would treat you if you decided you were willing to offer me your submission.” “What?” It was no time for subtlety. “Rumor has it your last lover was a complete arsehole,” Harland said. “Yeah, something like that,” Alasdair muttered, his gaze fixed firmly on his trainers. “Any particular brand?” Harland asked. Alasdair remained very still for several long seconds. “The kind a man dates when he’s not out and has no intention of coming out. The kind that knows that, but still outs him to everyone in his police station—just because it amuses him to do that.” Harland recited several vehement curses inside his head. But he kept them to himself. “No one has the right to do that,” Harland said, as he realized Alasdair was waiting for him to give any opinion. “Not even a dom, sir?” Alasdair asked. Harland felt his stomach turn over. His hand curled into a fist at his side, and he’d have dearly loved to have delivered a good right hook to Alasdair’s ex. Not having that option, he forced himself to unfurl his fist. “Don’t use that word like you know what real dominance means,” he said, as gently as he knew how. “You obviously haven’t had the opportunity to find out what a real dom is.” Alasdair looked up and held his gaze. Harland could see how hard it was for him to do that, but the guy bloody well did it anyway. “It means having another man taking complete control of you, doing whatever he wants with you and using you in any way he pleases. It means being available to him whenever you’re not on the job, and paying dearly for those times you’re unavailable just because some poor sod was inconsiderate enough to get murdered when he wanted to play. It means being thrown away when he’s done with you and it’s no longer amusing for him to keep twisting the knife.” Harland held his gaze through it all, needing the other man to know that he was listening and see that he cared, even if he wasn’t ready to realize that he’d be different. Alasdair blinked. He looked away. His lips twisted into a smile as he stared at the muddy tiles between him and his locker, but it wasn’t a happy expression. It seemed more like a

realization that he’d always be the one who blinked before his lover, and that wasn’t a place he wanted to find himself in again. Jerking to his feet, Alasdair strode toward the door leading out of the changing rooms. It took Harland a second to pull himself together and be sure his voice would be level when he called after him. “Alasdair, wait.” The sergeant hesitated. When he spun back around to face him, there was real anger in his eyes, but Harland was sure he despised himself for stopping far more than he hated his lover for calling out. “You have no right to expect me to obey you!” “The door’s still locked,” Harland reminded him, very calmly. “You’ll need the keys.” He threw them carefully across the room to him, making sure his aim held true and they would be easy for the submissive to catch. Alasdair looked at them as they landed neatly in his hand, then back to Harland. He didn’t say anything before he turned and walked away. Still leaning against the edge of one of the lockers, Harland stared at the empty doorway for a long time, even after Alasdair’s footsteps had faded from hearing and he had no doubt he was the only man left in the building. Pushing one hand through his hair, he pressed the heel of his other hand against his own neglected erection. His brain might think he’d made the right decisions by only allowing Alasdair to come that night. It was a pity his cock wasn’t so sure. Holding back a sigh, Harland retrieved the keys from the locker room door and began to clean up, just as he’d promised the grounds man he would when he’d damn near begged to be allowed to lock up that night.

Chapter Five

“Hello.” Alasdair froze. Standing in the middle of the locker room at the station, with his T-shirt half way over his head, his mind went blank. He forgot what he was supposed to be doing. He knew that voice. It called to him in a way no other one ever had. It was the same voice he’d been both longing and dreading to hear for the last week. “Harland,” he managed to say, with a reasonably level voice, as his muscles finally snapped into action and pulled his T-shirt down and smoothed it into place. “You’ve been avoiding me,” the other man observed. Alasdair didn’t bother to deny it. “I told you that I would be available to you when I wasn’t working. I don’t do this while I’m at work.” Being out as gay was one thing. But being out as a submissive… The very idea of it made his pulse race and his palms turn sweaty. Still, Alasdair carefully kept the words back, not wanting to put ideas into the dom’s head. He’d been there, he’d done that, but he wasn’t sure if he’d survive it again. “Neither do I.” Alasdair finally gave in to the temptation to look over his shoulder. Harland stood in the doorway to the locker room, his back to the battered fire door, effectively locking it with his very presence. “I’m not here to screw you, Alasdair, or to tie you up, or even give you an order. I just want to let you know that you don’t have to be scared of me—not while we’re working anyway.” Silence descended for several seconds, and Alasdair didn’t know how to break it.

Finally, Harland spoke up again. “Of course, if you were to be at Black’s on Short Street around ten o’clock tonight, that would be very different. A little bit of fear would probably be quite appropriate then.” He turned and left the locker room without another word. Alasdair stared after him for an embarrassingly long time before he finally glanced down to where his trousers were tenting over his hard-on. Sighing softly, he leaned forward and let his head rest against the cold metal of his locker. It wasn’t an order to be at the club that night. It wasn’t a demand to submit to him. It was an invitation, a suggestion. It was gentle and polite and lots of other things like that. There was nothing for Alasdair to rail and fight against, no reminder of why he’d have to be an idiot to meet the other man anywhere. “Bastard,” Alasdair muttered under his breath. “And the same to you.” Alasdair spun around. Ed Rawlings stood at one of the lockers behind him, his usual grin on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” Alasdair muttered. Ed chuckled. “I guessed. Bad day?” Alasdair turned his attention back to his locker. “Hard to say yet,” he said, more to himself than Ed. “It probably will be, but I guess there’s still a chance it could go either way.” **** Bloody idiot! Alasdair knew that insult, along with all the other names he’d called himself since he’d left work, were completely accurate. It still didn’t stop him from pushing open the heavy studded door and making his way into the club. The low, dark, space was full of men who were obviously on the prowl and looking to get laid. Alasdair hadn’t been properly out for long enough to be completely comfortable with that kind of company at the best of times. When he realized that most of the guys around him were wearing a hell of a lot of leather, it stopped being anything other than the worst of times for him. A hand landed on his shoulder. Alasdair spun around. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, ready to defend himself if necessary.

Harland stood right behind him, his expression deadly serious. Against all logic, Alasdair felt heat rush to his cheeks. Hell of a first impression to offer up. He might as well have screamed in fright like a little girl. Harland dipped his head until his lips almost brushed against Alasdair ear. “I told you to be afraid, didn’t I?” The words were just audible over the pumping beat of the music. Alasdair nodded. “Are you?” Alasdair remained completely still, not sure if he wanted to nod again or shake his head and deny any such weakness. “You’d have to be a fool not to be scared the first time you submit to a new dom. Putting yourself in another man’s hands requires one hell of a leap of faith.” “I’m not here because I’m afraid of you,” Alasdair blurted out. “I’m here because I owe you.” Harland pulled back a few inches and raised an eyebrow at him. “From after the rugby match,” Alasdair babbled on. Harland remained silent. “I don’t like being in anyone’s debt,” Alasdair added, for good measure, although he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince with his arguments. He’d been trying bloody hard not to see the flaws in his logic for the last hours himself, with very little success. The dom took half a step forward. He was so close, Alasdair was ready to swear he could feel the heat from his body through all the layers of clothing that still separated them. “What exactly is it that you think you owe me, Alasdair?” Alasdair swallowed. “I…you…” “I got you off?” Harland suggested. “I sucked your cock? I let you come in my mouth? I tied you up? Offered you my dominance?” Alasdair could only nod. “I did all those things,” Harland agreed. “But I didn’t do it so you’d think you had to return the favor. I have no interest in dominating any man who is only with me because he thinks he has a duty to keep the tally even.”

The words caressed Alasdair’s cheek as the other man turned his head slightly. If he copied the move, their lips would brush together. It was almost impossible for Alasdair not to give in to that temptation. “If you want to offer me your submission for no other reason than it’s exactly what you crave, I’ll take you home with me, tie you to my bed, I’ll paddle your arse and screw you until you scream. If that’s not what you want, if you’re not ready to take that chance, then we both simply walk away now, and nobody has to mention any of this again until you are ready. I’ve waited this long since I met you. I can wait longer if I need to.” Alasdair remained silent for several long seconds. His throat wouldn’t work. As much as he hated himself for wanting exactly what the other man offered him, there was no way he could make himself pick option two. “I’m ready to leave when you are…” he rasped out, each word barely loud enough to the heard over the music. “…sir.” Harland immediately turned away from him and strode out of the room. Apparently it never even occurred to the dominant to doubt that Alasdair would follow him, and Alasdair didn’t let him down. He was hot on Harland’s heels when they reached the car park. “Follow me back to my place,” the dominant ordered. “You’ll feel better knowing you can get home if you need to. Just park behind me in the drive.” The journey seemed to take forever. Being alone in his own car gave Alasdair plenty of time to panic, plenty of time to change his mind as his fists tightened around the steering wheel. If Carlson had ever given him the opportunity to run away once a scene started, he was sure he’d have taken it, but somehow, Alasdair still found himself pulling up behind Harland’s car and following him into his house. “Here’s the deal,” the dominant announced, the moment the front door swung closed behind them. “I’m not going to tell you that I’m different to your ex. That would just be a waste of both of our time.” Alasdair couldn’t reply. His tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth. His feet were stuck to the floor in the middle of the other man’s living room just as efficiently. All doms were the same. He couldn’t expect Harland to be any different to Carlson. All he could really do was hope that the other man would be discreet and not make his weaknesses the subject of locker room gossip. “I’m going to show you I’m different,” Harland went on.

Alasdair looked up and met Harland’s eyes. “What?” “I’m going to treat you exactly as I think a good dom should treat his submissive—the way a man should treat someone he thinks he just might be able to have something really good with. And, while I do that, you’re going to measure me up against some idiot who obviously didn’t have a bloody clue what he was doing.” Harland held up a hand when Alasdair attempted to speak. “That is what you’re going to do. I know it, even if you don’t. But that’s okay. Measure away.” He smiled very slightly as if he knew full well he wasn’t going to fall short. For several seconds silence filled the room. Alasdair helplessly held the other man’s gaze until Harland spoke up again. “I’m not going to treat you like a slave or an idiot, Alasdair. I’m going to treat you like a man who enjoys giving control over to his lover, who knows how to take pleasure in obeying orders. Like someone who likes being tied up by a guy who just happens to like tying people up, and likes getting whipped by someone who likes whipping his lovers.” “Yes, sir.” They were the only words in Alasdair’s head. Desperate to fill the silence when it fell over the room once more, he had no choice but to blurt them out. Harland merely nodded as if that were a perfectly logical answer. Turning around, he walked away once more. Alasdair followed. It didn’t occur to him to do anything else. As he reached the doorway leading into a bedroom, Harland was already fastening cuffs to the bed frame. Hesitating, Alasdair remained just outside the room and watched the other man’s practiced movements. Harland was no novice. He’d obviously tied up lots of guys before. He knew what he was doing. This time around, there would be no angry accusations leveled at Alasdair when the man he was submitting to became pissed off with his own inability to work his toys. “I’ll let you choose today.” Alasdair followed the other man’s gaze to a big, leather-clad chest set under the window. Walking across to it, he knelt down and lifted the heavy lid. For some reason, he expected an ominous creak to fill the air, but the hinges were well oiled. They opened smoothly, as if they had already been worn in by years of frequent use. A mass of leather, chain and wood stared back at him.

Whips and paddles, and floggers, oh my! Alasdair had no idea how long he stared down into the tangle of toys, but he jumped and almost lost his balance when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. He looked up, just in time to see Harland crouch down beside him. The dominant’s hand slid down to the small of his back as he looked over Alasdair’s shoulder at his collection. “How much have you done before?” Alasdair stared helplessly into the toy box. “Enough to know I can take a hard beating, sir,” he offered. He’d never had a problem playing the physical side of the game. Suddenly full of nervous energy, Alasdair tried to rise, but the other man’s hand moved back to his shoulder and held him in place—not forcing him to remain below the dominant, but keeping him firmly at the same height as him. “Let me see what you think you’d enjoy most today,” Harland ordered, with another nod toward the box. Alasdair swallowed. In his experience, offering up that kind of knowledge was a damn good way to make sure the other man never used that particular toy on him. It wasn’t about the submissive enjoying himself, any pleasure he received was just a by-product that the dom had to work hard at eliminating from the game. He knew that, but still… Without his brain really getting a chance to finish panicking, Alasdair’s hand reached into the box and picked up a paddle. It was slim and covered in rich, black leather, but it was deceptive too. The weight in his hand hinted that it would land a harder blow than it looked capable of delivering. His mouth damn near watered at the possibilities it presented. His cock ached with need. Harland reached out and took it from him. He ran his fingers over the leather several times as he studied it. It wasn’t as if he could never have set eyes on it before. It was his toy, for heaven’s sake! But he still inspected it with obvious care before nodding his apparent acceptance of Alasdair’s choice. The guy probably didn’t give a damn what he picked, Alasdair quickly reminded himself. There was no reason for him to feel so thrilled at making a selection that seemed to satisfy the more dominant man.

Harland stood up. When Alasdair failed to follow his lead, the dominant’s hand left his shoulder and appeared in front of him. When Harland helped him to his feet, they stood so close together their bodies were almost touching. Alasdair tried to take a step back. The dominant’s grip on his hand tightened. The paddle came to rest pointedly on the seat of his jeans. Looking up, he met Harland’s eyes. “You have a fantastic arse.” “Yes, sir.” The moment the words left his lips Alasdair cursed himself for an idiot. “I didn’t mean—” “To agree with me?” Harland cut in. “What a pity, that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do whenever possible.” Alasdair focused his attention somewhere around the other man’s shoulder as he tried to make his new dominant fit in with the knowledge gained from his former. “Biggest fear?” Harland suddenly asked. While his brain battled to catch up with the change in subject, Alasdair’s lips took over. “Screwing this up.” Alasdair frowned slightly as the words hit the air. That shouldn’t have been his biggest fear. He should have been afraid that the guy would turn out to be just like Carlson—that he was right to think that all doms were the same and, closeted or out, what he’d had before was the best he’d ever be able to hope for in the future. “Good. That’s easily fixed,” Harland said, stepping back from him. Alasdair blinked at him. It was? “Take off your clothes and leave them on that chair. Lay down in the center of the bed, on your stomach,” Harland ordered briskly. “Stretch your arms and legs out toward the cuffs on the bed frame.” Alasdair looked from Harland to the bed, with no idea what to do with either item while the rapidly rattled off orders bounced and echoed around inside his head. “Once you’ve done that, everything else that we do tonight is all down to me,” Harland informed him, his fingers still tracing a complex pattern on the surface of the paddle. “There won’t be anything that you can or can’t screw up then.” The dominant’s words snuck straight into the deep, instinctive part of Alasdair’s psyche. From the second he heard them, he wanted exactly what they promised him.

No more decisions. No pressure. Just the simple pleasure of belonging to another man, being his to do with as he pleased and, in a quiet, scared little voice at the very back of his mind, the desperate hope that things would be different this time.

Chapter Six

Alasdair took a step toward the chair Harland had pointed out to him. His hand went to the hem of his shirt. It was over his head before he moved another pace. Tossing it on the chair, his back still to Harland, Alasdair kicked off his shoes. Socks, jeans, boxers, it didn’t take long for him to strip down. Taking off his watch, he set that on top of the pile. It would only be in the way when the dominant wanted to bind him, but more than that, part of him already understood that time didn’t really have any meaning—he was Harland’s for as long as the other man wanted him, and everything else was irrelevant. As he stood naked in the middle of the other man’s bedroom, Alasdair could feel the dominant’s eyes running over his body, but he didn’t dare look over his shoulder in case he lost his confidence when their eyes met. Moving to the side of the bed, he carefully lay down, desperately trying not to think about the way the blanket rubbed against his hard-on as he settled himself on the dark blue covers. Turning his head away from Harland, Alastair rested his cheek on the soft cotton and stretched out each limb toward the appropriate cuff, just as the dominant had ordered. It was impossible for him to actually relax, but Alasdair did his best to keep his breathing slow and even as he pulled a regular supply of oxygen into his body in an effort to be ready for anything that might happen next. His head spun, but that didn’t matter. It was done. The order had been followed. The offer had been made. Alasdair let his eyes drop closed. A second later, leather came to rest on his arse. The paddle. Alasdair felt it wobble and almost fall as his buttocks tensed. He quickly forced the muscles to relax and, somehow, it stayed where it had been placed.

Straining his ears, Alasdair heard the dominant’s clothes rustle as he reached for the first cuff. That second’s warning held him in good stead. He didn’t react as Harland slipped it around his wrist and fastened it snugly around his skin, nor when he repeated the process at the other three corners of his body. Alasdair merely lay there, just as Harland said he could. He didn’t even move when Harland retrieved the paddle from on top of his arse, but his next attempt at a slow, steady breath quickly turned into a gasp as the leather-clad surface returned to his backside with a slap. He jerked against his bonds as the sound echoed around the room, or maybe just as it echoed around inside his head. It seemed quite possible for it to do that while his mind was so empty of anything but his submission. Out of Alasdair’s line of sight, a hand caressed his buttock as if to check how well the thick layer of muscle had absorbed the first blow but as soon as Harland’s fingers retreated, the paddle came back, striking his other buttock even harder. This time, there was no intermission where a gentler touch was applied. The leather quickly fell against him again. The individual strokes weren’t hard. There was no wave of sickening pain like he had sometimes felt under Carlson’s lash. Each one merely encouraged another wave of pleasure and lust to flood into Alasdair’s veins. But, there was a rhythm to them that hinted that Harland would easily be able to keep up the delivery all night. The only thing that would make the dominant stop was his desire to. And the combination of all those strokes…the possibility made Alasdair’s cock harder than ever. He moaned as a harder spank landed on his arse. Both the skin and the muscle beneath burst into flame as the sensations built up further with each contact. He soon arched against the mattress, unable to stop himself from squirming. Inside his head, he had no idea if he wanted to lean into the next strike of the paddle, or pull away from it in an effort to gain just a few seconds for his brain to process all those spanks that had already been delivered. His head pounded as he gasped for air. The chains linking his cuffs to the headboard rattled, his feet kicked out. More, less, everything. He had no idea what he really wanted. A harsher blow to his arse? A strong hand wrapped around his cock? Another man’s lips moving roughly against his as the other guy’s stubble scraped against his cheek? He wanted…

Alasdair’s thoughts slowly faded away as he suddenly found himself surrounded by silence. The sound of leather against skin failed to return to fill the emptiness. The hush stretched out for what felt like hours, making it impossible not to feel as if he were all alone in the world. Finally, Alasdair managed to lift his head. “Sir?” A gentle hand came to rest on his sore backside. “I’m still here.” Alasdair swallowed. He hesitated for a moment, but slowly lowered his head back to the blanket. That was right, Harland was there, and Harland was making all the decisions now, he just had to be there, he just had to exist. The hand on his arse squeezed, making Alasdair groan as he rubbed his torso against the bed in response. There was more than a touch of discomfort audible in the sound. Alasdair wondered if Harland realized that it was due to the ache in his cock rather than his buttocks. Helplessly rocking his hips as Harland moved his hand to his other buttock and squeezed that muscle too, Alasdair pushed his painfully hard shaft against the blanket once more. “I’ve been staring at your arse for months, do you know that?” Harland’s voice was all sex, all dominance as it reached Alasdair’s ears. “Yes, sir,” Alasdair murmured, rubbing his face against the blankets. He could hardly have missed the way the other man’s eyes had followed him around ever since he set foot in the station for the first time. The other man’s touch left him then, but he was aware of the dominant’s presence remaining in the room with him. Harland hadn’t left. He wasn’t like Carlson. He wouldn’t leave him bound for hours when he wasn’t even there. The bed moved beneath Alasdair as Harland joined him on the mattress. Both the dominant’s hands came to rest on his arse again, massaging the heated skin under his palms, squeezing them and pulling his buttock’s apart as he roughly fondled the abused skin. Suddenly sliding his hands down the backs of his legs, Harland left Alasdair’s arse bare and exposed. Just a second later, teeth scraped against Alasdair’s freshly spanked skin, making him jerk and jump. “Mine.” “Yes, sir.” Another nipping little kiss was pressed against his other buttock.

Alasdair whimpered. “Please…” Even though he had no idea what he was begging for, there was no way he could keep the word back. Harland chuckled, a warm rich sound that slid down Alasdair’s spine and spread through him, claiming ownership of each nerve ending and fiber of his being as it went. “You can beg all you want, sweetheart, and I’ll love listening to you. But it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. The decisions are mine, remember?” “Yes, sir,” Alasdair whispered into the sheet. The other man’s hands left him for several seconds. When one came back, its fingers were slicked with lube. The digits quickly slid between his cheeks and stroked his hole. The cuffs held his legs so wide apart, Harland had completely unfettered access to his arse, but he didn’t seem in any rush to make use of that fact. Alasdair tried to push back against the other man’s fingers. He failed to actually do anything more than squirm, but he still tried. There was no way in hell he could have stopped himself demonstrating just how much he wanted the other man, but just as Harland promised, nothing he did made the slightest difference. Bound tightly to the bed, for the first time in his life, Alasdair realized he really believed the man who’d put the cuffs around his wrists would keep his word on that as well as on everything else. As something inside him finally broke through the last barrier and put its trust in the dominant, Alasdair whimpered. So many emotions and sensations swirled inside him, it was impossible to think of anything but the other man’s teasing touch against his hole. Finally, just as he broached the edge of madness, fingers thrust deeper inside him, caressing his prostate as they sent pleasure rushing through Alasdair’s body almost faster than he knew how to process it. “Please.” He repeated the word over and over again. “Harland, sir, I…” The other man’s fingers disappeared. For a second, Alasdair almost believed that a more familiar reality had reasserted itself at the worse possible moment—that his words somehow meant that Harland was going to stop and walk away just when he needed him most. The sound of a condom wrapper being torn open filled the air. Relief swept through Alasdair, washing away everything he’d ever been worried about. He moaned as he rocked his hips and thrust his cock against the bed once more, aware that he was damn near wriggling his arse in invitation, but not able to care enough to be embarrassed about it right then.

“That’s right,” the other man whispered in his ear, as his body covered Alasdair’s. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” “You.” Alasdair barely managed to whisper it. He wanted the other man so badly he could barely breathe through his sheer need for him. At some point Harland must have cast aside his clothes. His skin was bare as it brushed against Alasdair’s back. Slicked latex kissed his prepared hole, tempting him but still not actually entering him. “Please, sir.” The dominant pressed a kiss to Alasdair’s neck, just a tender little touch of lips to eager skin. Then, with one harsh thrust, he was buried in him to the hilt. Alasdair jerked against his restraints. He tossed back his head. A noise left his mouth, but he was far too caught up in sensations to think about sounds. It could have been a gasp or a scream. He’d never know. The only man who’d know was his new master. Harland’s lips caressed his shoulder again, his teeth nipped at his neck. Alasdair tilted his head to one side and offered him better access. Strong hands came to rest on his arms, increasing his bondage even as the other man used Alasdair’s own body as leverage to screw him harder into the mattress. Rocking back, Harland thrust into him again. Each movement was as unforgiving and possessive as the last, as if he was determined to own Alasdair down to the core from that moment on. Alasdair’s eyes dropped closed. Lights flashed behind the lids. Harland pounded into him. His hips met Alasdair’s freshly paddled buttocks again and again, making him groan in both pleasure and pain. It was useless to try to push back, to move at all. Alasdair fell completely still against the blankets as the pleasure built inside him. It crashed through his brain like waves against a storm ravaged shore, wearing away its defenses with each tide, controlled by something out of Alasdair’s sight, out of his experience or understanding. “I still haven’t told you that you need my permission to come,” Harland ground out. The last storm barrier gave way. Defenses destroyed, Alasdair had no choice but to let the ocean in, to welcome it with open arms and make it part of him.

A howl of pure primal ecstasy was torn from him as he came. The sound blurred with the chafing of the leather around his wrists, the friction of the other man’s cock buried deep inside him, and the weight of Harland’s body as the dominant finally fell still and collapsed against him. Each little detail wound around all the others to make something more perfect than Alasdair had ever felt in his life. Harland must have come at the same time as him. He felt too relaxed not to have been completely satisfied. Alasdair felt another tiny peak of pleasure echo through his body at that realization, and he savored each and every moment until the other man murmured sleepily against his neck and pulled away to undo Alasdair’s cuffs and dispose of the used condom. As unwanted freedom suddenly forced its way back into his world, Alasdair sat up on the bed, completely at a loss as to what was expected of him. He rubbed absentmindedly at his wrists, even though it was obvious no real damage had been done to them. Well aware that Harland was studying him from the other side of the bed, he kept his gaze down, playing for time before he had to turn and face the man he was rapidly falling in love with.

Harland smiled slightly as he rearranged himself on the bed and leaned comfortably back against a pillow propped against the headboard. “What are you thinking?” If a man didn’t know better, he might have seen the way Alasdair tensed at the question and thought that the other man had simply forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the room. Luckily, Harland knew better. The submissive didn’t look up. He didn’t even glance in Harland’s direction, but the smile stayed on Harland’s lips regardless. He couldn’t bring himself to be surprised at the other man’s uncertainty. No doubt he was used to being sent away once a dom was finished with him. His ex seemed the kind of bastard who would enjoy tossing his lover out onto the pavement when his head was still spinning with afterglow and subspace. When it became obvious Alasdair wasn’t going to be able to form an answer to his question any time soon, Harland tapped the bed next to him and moved the other pillow into a position to match his own. “Come here.” Alasdair hesitated, but eventually did what his lover commanded. “You don’t have to—” he began.

Harland put a finger to Alasdair’s lips before he had a chance to say another word. He could easily guess what would come next. He didn’t have to fuss over him, didn’t have to be polite, be nice to a submissive. “I told you I’d show you that I’m not like that bastard.” Alasdair turned away from the silencing fingertip. “I think you’re a bloody sight more dangerous than he ever was,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. He shifted slightly against the mattress as if in some discomfort. Harland’s smile still stayed put. The way Alasdair was sitting, his buttocks had to feel like they were on fire, but the rest of him seemed so sated, so willing to accept Harland’s invitation to be close to him, that he couldn’t bring himself to move just to ease that minor inconvenience. “You really think I’m not risking more with you than I would be if I just wasted an hour with some nameless, faceless sub on the local scene?” Harland asked. Alasdair frowned. “What?” Harland‘s smile turned rueful as he bent one knee up and rested his elbow on it. “A sub worries that a dom will get inside his head. A dom worries that a sub will get under his skin. I have a feeling we’ve both been right to be more than a little worried since we met.” Alasdair held his gaze for several long seconds, doing a reasonable impression of a rabbit caught in the headlights, but he didn’t hyperventilate. Harland took that as a good sign, maybe even as the first real sign he was ready to really begin to move past whatever hell his ex had put him through. “Ever been in love?” Harland asked, before he could think better of it. Alasdair mutely shook his head. “Me neither.” Harland was silent for several seconds. “If I’m any judge both of us should find the next few months very…interesting.” “Yes, sir,” Alasdair offered. Harland caught his gaze. The submissive smiled, just a little uncertainly. But Harland couldn’t help but step in and ease any worries the other man might have. “I told you that I’d make all the decisions, didn’t I?” Alasdair merely nodded, apparently unable to form a single word.

“I’m deciding that no one is going to rush into anything.” Harland’s gaze roved around the room, looking for a concrete point to hang their future on. “Neither of us will even mention anything like this again until we’ve tried out every toy in that box.” Alasdair looked from him to the toy box and Harland could damn near see the wheels spinning inside his head as he worked out how long that might take them. “Yes, sir.” “And, that’s it, I’ve made the decision. There’s nothing you need to worry about until then.” Alasdair nodded very slowly as that sunk in. “Yes, sir.” For the first time, Harland heard a deeper tone of submission in him, the beginnings of something like true trust, a true desire to belong to the master sitting next to him, something deeper than any pair of handcuffs and spreader bars could ever inspire. Leaning in, Harland brought their lips together and he kissed the man he knew he was already well on his way to falling in love with.

About the Author

Kim Dare is a twenty-seven year old, fulltime writer from Wales (UK). First published in December 2008, Kim has since released over thirty BDSM erotic romances.

While the stories range from male/male, male/female to all kinds of ménage relationships and have included vampires, time travelers, shape-shifters and fairytale retellings, they all have three things in common—kink, love and a happy ending.

Published since 2008, Kim also writes BDSM erotic romances for Total-e-bound.

Kim loves to talk to her readers and can be found at www.kimdare.com.

Also Available from

Resplendence Publishing Duck! by Kim Dare Raised among humans, Ori Jones only discovered he was an avian shifter six months ago. Unable to complete a full shift until he reaches his avian maturity, he still can’t be sure of his exact species. But with species comes rank, and rank is everything to the avians. When a partial shift allows the elders to announce that they believe Ori to be a rather ugly little duckling, he drops straight to the bottom rung of their hierarchy. Life isn’t easy for Ori until he comes to the attention of a high ranking hawk shifter. Then the only question is, is Ori really a duck—and what will his new master think when the truth eventually comes out?

Taken by the Pack by Cheryl Dragon

Phases: Book One Danny loves Alaska, but it doesn’t seem to love him back. The full Wolf Moon sparkles over Fairbanks, but he’s alone for those long nights. He wants to come out of the closet and date, but his frail family might implode. All he wants is the right man in his bed. Brandon and Justin are lovers and wolf shifters native to Alaska. They’re out to protect their way of life, and sometimes that means extreme measures. When Danny’s brother proposes aerial wolf hunting, Danny enters their sights. Danny was the closet case in high school, and now, he’ll be their sex toy. The shifter pair is ready to do whatever it takes to stop the hunting and maybe add a sexy human man to their pack.

Bedtime Story for a Stolen Child by Ana Mayle Stolen away from his cradle as a child, Leinad has been a plaything of the Faerie for thirty years. He has been broken and put back together so many times that he cannot even remember what he used to be. He has given up all hope of escape, until a soft breeze through his cell leads him home, only to find out that home has gone on without him. A man with Leinad’s face is there in his place, with his siblings, acting out his life. A changeling. The creature who enabled his imprisonment and torture for all those years.

Daniel Tessel is a thirty year old folklorist. He is meeting his brother and sister at their family cabin, to spend the anniversary of their parent’s deaths together. His biggest worry is the séance his little sister is insisting on, and trying to stave off her inevitable disappointment. That is, until he looks up during the ritual to see his own face watching him from the window. He is pulled into the consequences of a plot he cannot even remember, accused of stealing his own life. Confused, angry, and frightened beyond reason, Daniel tries to escape from Leinad, but there is something pulling them together. Revenge and passion are two very similar things. Blood sings, lust and tempers rise, and before they know it, neither is quite sure who the real monster is anymore. Or if it will even matter in the end.

Marrick’s Promise by Kim Dare Marrick thinks that being thrown to the lions will be the ultimate adrenaline rush, and he’s not disappointed. But his plan is to try everything life has to offer once. He has no intention of visiting the lions again. Blaine and Luther don’t expect to give any of the human sacrifices they share another thought once they leave the den. This man’s different. They have no intention of letting this one go. The only question is, while they are willing to share Marrick with each other, are they willing to share each other with a human who could become as important to each of them as they are to each other?

Extinction by Carol Lynne Professor of Environmental Science/Wildlife studies at UNLV, Jack McBain has spent his adult life trying to track a legend overheard during his youth. Born and raised in the Canadian Province of Newfoundland, Jack remembers his grandparents telling stories of a race of people eradicated by European settlers in 1829. According to the legend, the Beothuk people didn’t die out as first thought, but were transformed into wolf shifters. When Newfoundland wolves began to appear in great numbers, the European settlers began killing them under the guise of population control. In 1910, the last of the Newfoundland wolves was shot, making them one of the few extinct species of wolves in the world. Following spotty leads, Jack begins to track what he believes are Beothuk/Newfoundland shifter wolves. His search leads him to the Lake Mead National Recreational Area outside of Las Vegas. There, on Spirit Mountain, he finally comes face to face with not only the shifter he’s been looking for, but the man of his dreams he didn’t know he needed.

Tropical Hedonism by Dakota Rebel

After a boating accident, Sean Harris wakes up staring into the eyes of a handsome doctor. Even when he discovers that he is on an island within the Bermuda Triangle, and there is no way for him to get back to his old life, he can’t be too disappointed if it means being stuck with the doctor. Dr. Wesley Carpenter cannot believe that the younger Sean Harris would want anything to do with him. After half-heartedly turning down the advances of his patient, he realizes that resistance is futile. The men find themselves falling for each other quickly, but ghosts from their pasts and outside influences try to get in the way of their happiness. Sean and Wesley may be on the island forever, but neither is sure if that guarantees they’ll be able to continue their Tropical Hedonism.

Mind F*cked by Mia Watts Sage has the ability to read minds, but only in high passion moments when thoughts transmit at a higher frequency. But the gift is double-edged. Sage is inordinately handsome. Some might even say he’s a walking orgasm. So what’s a half-breed to do when every person he meets seems intent on seducing him, and how will he know if the man he chooses will love him for more than his looks? Joe has never been the object of anyone’s lust before. Now Sage, the hottest guy he’s ever laid eyes on, has Joe starring in his sexual fantasies. It would be perfect if only Sage could shut up for one minute, and quit talking about his own hotness—or about how he can read minds. Meanwhile, Joe and Sage must secure the last three Zodiac Stones and prevent their theft while they wait for exhibition. Can they put their sexual tension aside long enough to stop a clever thief? And even if they do, will Joe’s heart be a casualty of their inevitable fling, or could Sage really be looking for more than a one-night stand?

Also Available from Resplendence Publishing

The Not Quite Wicked Series

Wolf in Men’s Clothing by Dakota Rebel Little Red Riding Hood has nothing on Rhys. On his way to his grandmother’s house, Rhys’ car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately for him, there is a big, bad rescuer watching and waiting to sweep him off his feet.

Just Right by Bronwyn Green When Department of Natural Resources officer, Gwendolyn Locke, hits a black bear on the way home from work one night, her entire view of reality changes. She discovers that shape-shifters exist, and she’s just become Goldilocks to three gorgeous, very aroused men who also happen to be werebears. Being snowbound has never been so hot.

Open Sesame by Mia Watts Alister Baban overheard a business discussion that netted him and his Uncle Cassimer a lot of money. When the Simsim Group stock crashes and declares bankruptcy within weeks, the owners immediately suspect the Babans of playing dirty. Oz Adamo, one of four brothers who owned Simsim Group, agrees to abduct Alister to obtain information and win back the lost pensions of former employees. Tied to a bed and lusting after his captor, Alister fights the sexual attraction he has for Oz. They want information and he isn’t about to give it. But Oz loves a good challenge, and shrewd, serious, sexy Alister is naked and his—at least for now.

Heart of Ice by Brynn Paulin Kai is perfectly unhappy with his life. Cast into a role as shop boy and forced into marriage to save his family, he sees nothing good in his future. In fact, his betrothed, Gerda, seems to hate everything he enjoys. Especially winter and his attraction to dominating his partners. His prospects look grim…until the Snow Queen arrives. Wyn has spent her life alone, living vicariously through those who love winter. When she learns of Kai’s predicament, she knows she must save him. If only she could save herself. She craves his dominance, but there’s one tiny thing standing in their way. No human can touch her without experiencing chilly agony. And that might bring any relationship to an icy death.

Find Resplendence titles at the following retailers

Resplendence Publishing www.ResplendencePublishing.com Amazon www.Amazon.com Barnes and Noble www.BarnesandNoble.com Target www.Target.com Fictionwise www.Fictionwise.com All Romance E-Books www.AllRomanceEBooks.com Mobipocket www.Mobipocket.com