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PROLOGUE
Chicago had a new lifestyle club that put the others to shame. The famous—or infamous, depending upon your point of view—Baker Street in London had branched out to Chicago. Like Baker Street for the U.K., Club Southside was the American headquarters for the covert operations group known around the world as Cerberus.
CHAPTER1
COOPER
Cooper McCullough looked down at his phone as he climbed the steps to the North American headquarters of Cerberus and smiled at the photo he’d received. Beth Knox had been a sweet submissive and he’d enjoyed his time with her—she had a deeply submissive streak combined with a libido to match his own. Another Dom had come along, swept her off her feet and then collared and married her in record time.
It was all for the good, wasn’t it? Coop didn’t want any kind of romantic entanglements, right?
Wrong. Lately, he’d begun to question whether or not he wanted something more from a woman than an exclusive contract. Maybe he was ready to step up and have a full-on relationship—one that existed outside the club. Someone he could truly share his life with and find the kind of happiness he saw in so many couples at Southside. He’d always gone for subs who lived just to please him and wanted nothing more from him than play. There was no push and pull. He realized that’s what many Doms wanted, but he’d begun to question if he was one of them.
He chuckled to himself. Outsiders thought lifestyle clubs like Southside were all about kinky sex and orgies. Nothing could be further from the truth. He’d seen more healthy, strong, intimate relationships at the clubs than he’d ever seen in the vanilla world. Oh, sure there were players—on both sides of the slash—but in general, most of the members of Club Southside seemed to be looking further than a simple need to give or receive pleasure. They seemed to be searching for something deeper and more intimate. The lucky ones, Coop believed, were finding it.
Coop should know.
He had started out wanting nothing more than dominant sex with no strings attached—a seemingly endless stream of willing partners to indulge his every kinky fantasy. That had been fine for the longest time, only that time seemed to have passed and he’d begun to believe that he was missing out.
The picture of Beth and her new husband was from their honeymoon in Paris on thePont des Artsbridge—a pedestrian bridge connecting the Louvre Museum to theInstitut de France.The bridge was famous for the number of padlocks countless pairs of lovers had attached to it, throwing the keys into the Seine afterward.
He hadn’t been particularly sad when Beth had chosen to make a go of it with her new husband. In fact, he’d been happy for her and had even walked her down the aisle. But even at the reception—which they held at the club—Coop had felt something start to shift within him. It hadn’t been a sudden shift, but more of a growing understanding of what he wanted in a partner, including the awareness that he might want a true partner at all.
He was coming to believe he wanted what King and Royce had in Samantha and Camille respectively; a submissive, yes, but one who did not submit to just any Dom in the room. Both men had worked to earn their woman’s submission and love. Both had never been happier. He wanted that intimate and perilous dance of love and power exchange. It was the thing you didn’t get from someone who wanted to be your slave.
Originally, Coop had thought that was what he wanted, but he’d begun to see he’d never have the fire and passion King and Royce had with their wives. Their women were tough, strong, and were with them because theywantedto be, not because theyneededto be. Yes, they trusted their partners to take care of them, but they were more than capable of taking care of themselves.
But what the hell did he know?
Coop stopped at the front reception desk and signed in before heading toward the elevator to get to the third floor, where Cerberus had its North American headquarters.
“Yo, Coop, hold up!” called Seth Newcomb.
Coop frowned. The last thing he needed was Seth crawling up his ass.
“Seth, you need to sign in,” called the receptionist.
“Gimme a break, Alicia. It’s not like you don’t know who I am and that I’m here.”
“The rule is you have to sign in,” she responded in her prim and proper way.
Coop often wondered what might lie beneath her schlumpy dresses and voluminous daily cardigans. Today’s dress was a 1950’s style polka dot number and was at least one size too big for her. The sweater was black and had to be at least two sizes too big. She wore big fake pearl earrings and a fake pearl and onyx necklace and nude hose. The only thing that would make a man take notice were her shoes—red stilettos with pointed toes.
Except for the fuck me shoes, she had the most unflattering, forgettable wardrobe he had ever seen. Nothing fit her nicely or showed off the curves he was sure she had. She might be totally forgettable except for those fuck me shoes. And what was she doing working at a lifestyle club or an international black ops group for that matter?
Seth tried to ignore her, but she was persistent. “Mr. Newcomb, please. I don’t want to have to report this to Mr. Coltraine again.”
“Your wish is my command,” said Seth as he started for her. “Hold the elevator for me, would you Coop?”
What am I? His fucking doorman?Coop realized he wasn’t really pissed at Seth. He actually liked him a great deal.I guess I’m more discontented with my life than I thought.The pictures of a happy Beth and her new hubby on their honeymoon hadn’t helped.
Alicia smiled. There were few women who could resist Seth Newcomb when he wanted to be charming, and Alicia wasn’t one of them.
The foyer inside the building was an expanse of marble and burled walnut paneling. When gunshots sounded from outside the doors, Alicia ducked behind the massive front desk, which was also made of walnut but was lined on the inside with bulletproof metal. Someone taking a potshot at someone outside the building was a far more common occurrence than it should have been.
Cooper tackled Seth, taking him to the floor and landing on him with a painful thump. Coop driving him to the floor was painful for Seth’s back, and Seth’s elbow slamming into Coop’s ribs hadn’t felt too good, either. It might not have been so bad if Coop hadn’t been recuperating from a recent compression injury that had exacerbated an old injury from his years in the SEALs.
“Alicia, are you okay?” called Coop.
