The Fight Club was born from a group of guys who spar together at the gym where they practice mixed martial arts. When they aren’t working their day jobs or fighting opponents, these men spend their free time at the local BDSM club.
Extreme. Follow each man and his journey to find the perfect submissive in The Fight Club.
Amazon – http://amzn.to/2B9UIvX
Rafe crossed one ankle over the other and pretended to check his phone messages while he waited. Her sweet voice leaked out the door as someone held it open and she said her goodbyes. “Thanks, Uncle Joe. I’ll call you next week then?”
“I’ll be here.”
And then the waiting was over. The first thing Rafe saw was a tan sexy leg emerge into the sunshine. And the body that followed made his palms sweat.
“Oh.” She set a hand on her chest, startled, as the door behind her closed with a snick. “You—”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Rafe alternated his weight from one foot to the other.
She stared at him for a moment and glanced over her shoulder. The running car engine must have grabbed her attention.
Two seconds later she whipped her head back toward Rafe, stepped into the space between his legs, and entwined her arms around his neck. “Mind if I use you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Before Rafe could wrap his mind around his good fortune, the pixie had tipped her head, leaned in, and planted a kiss on him that scrambled his brain. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he set his hands on her lower back and held her tight as he deepened the kiss.
God almighty. She tasted of mint and smelled like sunshine. He was vaguely aware of the Lexus speeding away but didn’t break contact with the woman’s soft lips to investigate.
Finally, she pulled back. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, wet from their kiss, and she gasped for air. “Shit.” She stepped back. “You can kiss.” She touched her mouth with her fingers as though ensuring it was still there.
Rafe smiled. “Thank you. Um, I don’t know what to say. Rafe Walker.” He held out his hand in the narrow space between them. “Can’t complain about meeting a gorgeous woman in that fashion.”
The woman smiled, awkwardly shaking his hand with her head tipped to one side and her eyes narrowed. She pointed toward the door with her free hand. “You’re the one who got punched in the face.” Her gaze landed on his left eye.
“The one and only. I got distracted.” He smiled. “But not as distracted as I am now.”
“So, how does a guy who works with numbers all day get so buff?”
Mason inhaled, his chest puffing up at her comment. She hadn’t overlooked a single characteristic about him that normally left women swooning. She just chose to pretend she was unaffected. “I work out. A lot.” More than you can imagine.
When Rafe said to keep his hands to himself, Mason was pretty sure he also meant for him to keep his mouth shut about a lot of things.
“Really? Huh. Couldn’t tell.” Oh, she was all spit and vinegar.
“What about you? What do you do when you aren’t lining up roses?”
“Lining up roses?” She laughed again. “You’re so good with words.”
You have no idea. My words can make you cream your panties if I so choose.
“I read. I jog. Hang with friends. I work a lot of hours.” She looked out the window.
By her body language, he knew she was leaving out several parts of her life—intentionally. What are you hiding, Ms. Jenna the rose girl?
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as big as his own personal secrets. He was not one who should judge.
Jenna reached for her purse on the floor and rummaged around inside until she produced a hair clip. She lifted both arms and pulled her long straight locks back, twisting the glossy strands into a knot at the back of her head.
“Don’t.” The word slipped out before he could stop it.
She froze, the clip between her teeth, and turned to look at him.
He couldn’t help it. If he was going to spend the evening with her, he wanted to at least have the pleasure of admiring her silky black hair. The librarian look wasn’t going to do it for him. “I like it down,” he muttered. “It’s beautiful.” As he pulled to a stop at a red light, he turned and reached for her wrist, tugging her hand down. “Leave it?”
He was so out of his league here. It had been years since he’d entertained a woman for thirty minutes who didn’t know who and what he was. His words tumbled out haphazardly under the stress.
Women didn’t usually ignore his demands, but this particular woman didn’t know that.
The look she gave him made his vision blur for a moment. She took a deep breath, and the clip fell from her lips to her lap. Her right arm still held her hair in the air, but the locks slowly slipped between her fingers and cascaded back around her shoulders.
Mason ran his hand through a section and leaned in to smell the scent of her shampoo. He closed his eyes and learned her scent, feminine, floral of course.
Someone honked, and he jerked his gaze back to the front and grabbed the steering wheel. He hit the gas a bit too hard, and they lurched forward.
Jenna didn’t comment. She lowered her arm and stuffed the clip back into her purse. She turned her gaze to look out the passenger window. He saw her chest heaving with breaths out of his peripheral vision.
Fuck Rafe and his demands. There was no way in hell he could let this woman go. He’d had good intentions, but for Christ’s sake, she was so damn malleable he wanted to pull over and see what else he could command her to do.
Instead, Mason gripped the wheel harder and concentrated on driving. He might not be able to keep any promise about leaving Jenna alone, but he could at least get her from point A to point B without mauling her in the car. Later…
“Take off your panties.”
Emily froze. He’d known she would. He’d intentionally pushed her to the edge of her comfort zone and then let her topple over the precipice. “Here?”
“Now?” She lifted her gaze to his.
“You’ve only learned three rules and you’re already breaking them all.” Surely this wouldn’t take long.
Her mouth opened again.
Rider waited. He fought to keep from smiling. He fought to keep from clasping his dick in his hand. Hell, he fought to keep from reaching across the table and licking that gloss right off her lips to confirm what the flavor was.
What the hell are you thinking? The woman can’t do this. She isn’t submissive. But Rider knew subconsciously he was lying to himself. She was eager to learn and trembling splendidly with every instruction.
Emily lowered her entire head in a sharp movement before she remembered it was her gaze he was concerned about and corrected herself. “Sorry, Sir.” She tugged her hands from under her thighs as though they’d been glued to the vinyl bench. She set her fingers on her lap and glanced around the bar area.
“Don’t concern yourself with anyone else. The only person who matters right now is me. Besides, Extreme is filled with Doms and subs. Few people in this club have the time or inclination to pay attention to one wayward newbie in a dark corner removing her panties under the table.”
Emily brought her face back to center. She sat still for several moments. Finally, she lifted her ass the scant inches necessary, tucked her hands under her skirt, and squirmed as she drug her panties over her ass, across her thighs, and down her legs.
Fuck me. Rider lifted a hand and held it open, palm up. “I’ll take those.” He fought to control his voice. Damn.
Emily gasped. Her fingers shook as she brought the fistful of her panties above the table and set the wad on his palm.
Rider wanted to lift the panties to his face and inhale her scent instead, but he would content himself with knowing he could always do that later. Instead, he stuffed the treasure in the pocket of his jeans, leaning to one side to make the opening more accessible. He gritted his teeth when his hand brushed against his cock through the pocket.
When he’d righted himself, he spoke again. “Now, lift yourself off the bench and pull your skirt out from under your ass. Sit with your bare skin on the vinyl.”
Emily hesitated again, but she didn’t look around this time. She did as he told her.
“Spread your knees. I can’t see well from here, so I’m going to have to assume you’re following my instructions.”
She flinched, but her wiggling told him she’d complied, at least to a certain extent.
“Do I make you horny?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice.
“Yes, Sir.” She gripped the edge of the table again.
“I need verification.”
She sucked in a breath and waited.
“Dip two of your fingers into your pussy as far as you can. Show me how wet you are.”
“I— I can’t do that…Sir. Not here.” She glanced around again.
“Do you want to learn the ropes or not?” He leaned closer into her space. He knew he made her more uncomfortable than she’d ever been in her life. He also knew it was necessary. Her actions following his command would determine the rest of their relationship with each other. If Emily could follow this instruction and the one he intended to follow it with, he would know deep inside, she was submissive. There would be hope. For her or for me?
Becca Jameson is the best-selling author of the Wolf Masters series and The Fight Club series. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two kids. With over 50 books written, she has dabbled in a variety of genres, ranging from paranormal to BDSM. When she isn’t writing, she can be found jogging with her dog, scrapbooking, or cooking. She doesn’t sleep much, and she loves to talk to fans, so feel free to contact her through e-mail, Facebook, or her website.
…where Alphas dominate…
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