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Prologue
Eyes cast down. Rope. Naked flesh.
Sawyer Quinn studied the bound submissive before him. The tight bindings squeezed her flesh in the proper way so that the black hemp rope accentuated the curves of her feminine body. Even though she was enticingly beautiful, his cock mourned the action tonight.
Tonight, he mentored the Dominant Max on suspension bondage. Sawyer observed the artful ropes that captured the dark-haired submissive named Amanda. He didn’t linger too long on her rosy, erect nipples, though, as she most definitely belonged to Max.
Keeping a close eye on Max’s proficiency as he bound Amanda’s knee, Sawyer leaned against the dungeon’s stone wall for support. Black leather couches surrounded glass coffee tables, and wrought-iron sconces dimly lit the room. The best of BDSM equipment decorated the square room, with St. Andrew’s Crosses, spanking benches, ropes hanging from steel support beams, and much more. Club Sin was a five-star BDSM club, and Sawyer happily renewed his membership each year.
Under his careful examination, Max fumbled with one of the knots before undoing it to try again. Max tended to become frustrated during their training sessions, being too hard on himself for not getting it right the first time. Sawyer knew Max was trying to stay focused as he corrected the error—not an easy task when you have someone looking over your shoulder.
All in all, Sawyer thought, Max had done well.
Throughout the fifteen years Sawyer had been practicing BDSM, he noticed two different types of people who enjoyed bondage. One type included those who tied up their lover to add kink into their sex lives. The other type included those who had a bondage fetish.
The people with a fetish got off on seeing their lover wrapped in rope, just as Sawyer did when he bound a woman. Sawyer had first trained with knots in his early twenties. Then he had focused on Shibari before moving on to suspension bondage. Over time, bondage had become second nature to him. He could bind a woman to increase her pleasure as easily as he could tie a shoe.
The loud slaps of a leather flogger against flesh echoed across the dungeon from the spanking bench across the room. Sawyer stayed focused on the task at hand, seeing that Amanda kept her eyes closed while Max continued working over her body. Max knotted the rope at pressure points that he’d learned from Sawyer during their first training sessions.
Pleased by Max’s care of Amanda, Sawyer took note of the crowd, while soft music came from the speakers above his head. It didn’t surprise him to find newer members watching the scene. He couldn’t spot Club Sin’s owner, Dmitri. Nor could he see any of his fellow Club Masters—Kyler, Miles, Aidan, and Porter—all of whom Dmitri had appointed to help run the club, oversee the submissives in the dungeon, and educate the members.
His fellow Masters were highly experienced, and the training aspect of the scene stole away the passion and intensity. Those who watched Max and Amanda tonight did so to learn.
Nevertheless, his students enjoyed themselves.
One quick look between Amanda’s thighs under the light and he saw her wetness. Sawyer grinned to himself, understanding their mind spaces. When he bound his ropes around a woman, locking her into his care, his cock hardened. Always.
Now, though, his dick lay soft and unaffected in his jeans. Needless to say, since he wasn’t doing the binding, a little boredom had begun to settle in. When he had first earned Master status in Club Sin, he’d taken great pride in teaching others. While he still enjoyed playing with casual submissives, the joy of mentoring other Doms had diminished.
“There,” Max said, breaking into Sawyer’s thoughts. “She’s good, right?”
Sawyer pushed off from the wall, moving toward Max to see his handiwork. Amanda’s erect nipples indicated the level of heat burning through her. Yet her arousal was not Sawyer’s concern. “Do your bindings feel all right, sweetheart?”
“Yes, sir.” Black pupils had overtaken her blue eyes.
Sawyer chuckled. A breeze from the wind could make this sub come. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re doing well.” Looking over his shoulder to the young, blue-eyed, baby-faced Dom, Sawyer commented, “I shouldn’t have had to ask the question. Ask your sub. All right?” At Max’s firm nod, Sawyer examined the bondage with a keen eye. “Excellent knots. Well done.”
“Thank you.” Max smiled with a Dom’s arrogance.
When Max didn’t say anything more, Sawyer tilted his head at Amanda, raising his brows. Max realized his misstep, quickly adding, “Thank you for letting me practice this tonight, Amanda. You were outstanding, darling.”
Her breath whooshed between her swollen pink lips. “You’re welcome, Master.”
Master.
That one word told everyone in Club Sin whom Amanda belonged to. Sawyer never yearned for a sub to address him that way. The responsibility of having a full-time sub didn’t interest him. Casual relationships suited him better because of his demanding work schedule and busy life.
He studied his students, pleased that they were enjoying the art of ropes. Sawyer returned to his place against the wall, then said to Max, “The more you play with Amanda the better you’ll be attuned to her. But when dealing with bondage, always ensure she’s comfortable—you have to ask. Understood?”
“Got it.” Max’s posture stiffened, making him appear taller, as he admired his work. He ran his palm over Amanda’s rounded stomach. She leaned her head against her bound arms stretched high
above her. Max stroked her leg, which was bound at the knee, leaving her partially suspended. “I like you this way. So beautiful. All mine.”
When Amanda shuddered, Sawyer took it as his cue to leave. What they both needed now was a good quick fuck. He gave Max the go-ahead with a nod of his head, pleased by the other Dom’s use of tender, rewarding words toward his sub. Sawyer then turned and strode off into the crowd, finished with his instruction of the scene.
Sawyer didn’t travel too far, though, as he wanted them to be in sight just in case he was needed. Being a Club Sin Master meant protecting a submissive’s well-being. That was a responsibility he’d become proud of. He’d worked hard to achieve that respect—even if he did find himself lacking the enthusiasm he’d once had.
Only when he reached the black leather couch, ready to take a seat, did he realize his phone was vibrating in the pocket of his jeans. He thought it best to stay focused on Max and Amanda, and he ignored the call, figuring he’d return it later. But the vibration continued, and now he wondered if there could be a problem he was unaware of. He grabbed the phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”
“Son, it’s me,” said his father.
The chill in his dad’s voice straightened Sawyer’s spine. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s your sister.”
“Is she okay?”
“No, she’s not.” A pause. “Someone beat her up. It’s bad, son. Ashlyn needs you.” His father’s voice cracked, filling with heavy emotion. “Your mother needs you. We’re at Sunrise Hospital. Please get here as soon as you can.”
Before he could even end the call, Sawyer ran for the door, somehow aware that, in this split second, his life had just changed forever.
Chapter 1
“She’s lucky to be alive.”
Sawyer heard his father’s statement as he took in the sight before him. Even after a full minute of standing in the hospital room he couldn’t process seeing his little sister, Ashlyn, lying in the bed. The harsh scent of antiseptic in his nose, the beeping noise coming from the monitor, and the morphine drip attached to the needle in his sister’s hand all faded into the distance as the beaten state of her face filled his vision.
Black and blue bruises covered her cheekbones. Cuts and scratches spread over every inch of creamy white skin, and stitches outlined the right side of her mouth. Only her long brown hair remained untouched, and that lay beneath the bandages on her head.
Consumed with a wrath foreign to him, Sawyer inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, controlling the desire to explode. He fisted his hands and turned to his parents, Beth and Roger Quinn, asking the obvious: “Where is Travis?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, son.” His father—a few inches shorter and slightly softer in the middle, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair—continued in a stony voice, “We need to wait for Ashlyn to wake up. We can’t make assumptions about who attacked her.”
