Book 13 in the USA Today Bestselling Impossible Series—Can be read as a standalone.
A man with a broken heart…
The agony of losing the woman I love to another Dominant has left me dead inside. Over the last two years, sex has become my drug of choice to cope with the loss. I know I’m too broken to ever love again, but that won’t stop me from trying to fuck my pain away.
A woman with a painful past…
I’m not interested in intimacy, but I am interested in sex. As a BDSM romance novelist, I need to explore the world of kink for my books. The power exchange is meaningless; nothing more than research. Until I meet him. The powerful Dom won’t relent until he breaks down all my walls, including the ones that protect my ravaged heart.
Bound together by lust and danger…
Chloe Martin is a BDSM romance author by night and an investigative journalist by day. When the latter brings her to the New York unit of the FBI to research the Latin Kings, she never expects her two careers to collide. The agent she’s shadowing—Dexter Scott—is also a Dominant, and he’s interested in helping with her research in the field and in the bedroom.
But Chloe’s story on the Latin Kings puts her in the line of fire, and Dex’s protective—and possessive—instincts kick in. Can he let go of his pain and find his happily ever after? Or will the danger that surrounds them steal his second chance at love?
“Your safe word is red,” Dex told me. “Can you remember that?”
“Of course I can.” A hint of my indignation returned. Did he really think I was so dim that I couldn’t remember a simple safe word?
The pressure of the crop beneath my chin increased, tipping my head back farther and forcing me up onto my toes.
“Don’t be so sure. I’m going to take you so high, you’ll forget your own name. But don’t forget that one word.”
I wanted to say that I doubted his arrogant assertion. No Dom had ever sent me into subspace. I might play the role of a sub for my scenes, but I never truly submitted.
But something deep within me whispered that I’d already lost. I’d made the mistake of engaging in a power play with him, and I’d ceded to his will. I’d thought I was fully in control of the scene, but what had seemed like small changes—the blindfold, the gentle caresses of the crop instead of painful strikes, his low, firm commands rather than barked orders—had made me come undone.
“Good girl,” he said again before I could gather my wits enough to formulate a flippant response.
“I didn’t say anything,” I protested weakly. I’d done nothing to earn his praise.
The crop tenderly traced the line of my jaw. I suddenly wished he’d touch me with his fingertips instead. My teeth sank into my lower lip as I bit back a plea for him to put his hands on me.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” he told me in that same smooth, soothing tone. “And you don’t have to fight me. I can tell you’re trying to resist. Submit.”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“Yes, you can. You just don’t want to. But I’m not giving you a choice. Your only way out of this is your safe word.”
A beat of silence passed. He was giving me the opportunity to escape.
But I said nothing. I sealed my fate.
“Excellent. You’ve pleased me, Chloe.” The smooth leather traced the swell of my breasts again, and I arched into him as carnal sensation overwhelmed me. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”
I moaned. A bite of pain nipped at me as the crop slapped the top of my breast.
“I want a coherent answer,” he prompted, his voice lilting with arrogant amusement. A twin hit landed on my other breast, chastising me.
“Yes,” my shy admission was barely audible.
“Louder. And address me with respect.” The crop snapped against my sensitive inner thigh, and I cried out at the unexpected sting. With my sight taken, I couldn’t predict where the blows would land. It heightened my physical senses, making the relatively light hits inflict sensation that went deeper than my flesh. An odd tingling raced across my mind along with the sparks that danced across my skin. Thoughts turned hazy, and for a moment I floated.
Then the crop fell on my thighs again, snapping against one and then the other in rapid succession. I squealed and tried to close my legs, only to be reminded that they were held open by the spreader bar. My sound of protest transformed into a husky moan.
“I asked you a question,” his voice threaded through my mind. “Tell me this feels good. Tell me you like pleasing me.”
“Yes,” my voice seemed detached from my consciousness, leaving my lips without thought. “Yes, it feels good.”
“Yes, Sir,” he corrected me with another, sharper slap against my thigh. My abused flesh throbbed with a delicious burn, the warmth spreading up into my pussy.
“Yes,” I said more clearly. “It feels good, Sir.”
The crop suddenly pressed against my labia, stroking the wet folds. My head dropped back on a long sigh as pleasure flooded my mind.
“You mean it this time,” he said, his voice deep with satisfaction. “You called me Sir before because you thought it sounded like one of your romance novels. But this is the real thing, princess. A good Dom earns his sub’s respect.” He continued to stroke me with the crop, and my clit pulsed in need.
“I’m going to hit your clit, and you’re going to come for me,” he informed me. “But you’re going to ask me for it like a good girl. When we started, you demanded that I crop you. Do you want to try that request again?”
I whined my wordless resistance as a small part of me clung on to my final shreds of control.
He tapped the crop against my pussy lips, the light slap a promise of how he would stimulate my aching clit.
“We both know you want to come. I want it, too. I want you to give me a nice, big orgasm. Your pleasure is mine. Your body is under my control. I want to hear you admit it, to both of us. This is submission, princess. And you were made for it.”
His low, confident words wrapped around me like a caress even more erotic than the touch of the crop on my pussy. It was deeper than physical pleasure; it called to my soul.
I let out a blissful sigh, my entire body softening as I gave everything to him.
“That’s it,” he urged. “Surrender. Beg me for your orgasm.”
“Please make me come, Sir.”
After spending four years living in England, Julia returned to her Southern homeland. She has recently settled down in South Carolina and spends her time petting her cat-children, reading, and binge watching TV with her husband when not writing. You can usually find Julia in Starbucks with a venti iced latte clutched in her hand.
Julia loves connecting with readers! Please feel free to contact her on facebook, through twitter, or email her directly at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can find out more about Julia's current and future projects at julia-sykes.com.