Without Restraint

Book 1: Southern Shields

by Angela Knight

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

The first novel in the explosive new Southern Shield series from New York Times bestselling author Angela Knight explores the intoxicating games between a female cop and a Navy SEAL—and the killer instincts of a secret enemy watching every move they make.

Atlanta deputy Alexis Rogers and Navy SEAL Frank Murphy know all about power and restraint, necessary force, and pushing their limits. When they meet in the darkness of a BDSM club, their skills are put to use. With each successive night comes a new adrenaline rush, and while they’re falling into something perilously close to love, their games are still too private, too extreme, and too daring ever to be exposed.

But their intimate lives are upended when a fellow deputy of Alex’s is killed. It’s not a tragic hazard of the job. It’s cold-blooded murder. And he’s not the last to be taken out. Now Alex and Frank have found themselves more vulnerable than ever—and exposed to a killer with a twisted vendetta who turns desire into the most dangerous sensation of all.

Release date: August 4, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

October 10

Bruce Greer had always had a talent for breaking and entering. Of course, it had been years since he’d done it—he’d been walking the straight and narrow for almost a decade now. But after what he’d done six weeks ago, that was over and done.

Besides, he was really pissed.

The lock was a good one, but he’d learned to break into houses at his daddy’s knee. Steve Greer’s interests had been too expensive to fund on a mechanic’s salary, so they’d had to find other sources of income. Daddy was so good, the cops never caught them. Otherwise Bruce wouldn’t have his current job.

He used the picks with delicate skill, ignoring the sweat cooling on his face in the October air as he sought the familiar click and give of the lock’s pins. I’ve got plenty of time. The bastard won’t be back from the gym for another hour.

Good thing his target was such a creature of habit. He’d had the man under surveillance for weeks since he’d learned what they’d done to him. How they’d lied to him.

Especially Alex.

The thought of her betrayal sent a hot knife of anger slicing into his heart. He’d loved her since they were kids, and she’d done nothing but lie. Only pretended they could become lovers again.

All a lie. She’d been laughing at him the whole time.

Nobody laughed at a Greer.

There had to be an accounting. By the time he was done, they’d all bleed. Her. Her family. Her friends.

They all owed him blood.

The lock clicked open beneath the delicate manipulation of his picks. He lifted his bag, opened the door, and walked into the house.

October 20

Alexis Rogers had never been this turned on in her life. Especially not from watching somebody else have sex.

And how the hell did Frank turn swinging a bullwhip into a sex act? Not just a kink act—something that aroused you if you had a little twist in that direction. Which admittedly, Alex did.

The big man used the lash with sensuality, as if he were eating out the blonde lying across the spanking bench. Plump, pretty, and naked, Tara merely groaned in woozy pleasure.

The overhead spotlight caught the wet glisten of her rosy vaginal lips. She lay with wrists and ankles cuffed to the bench’s legs, the wedge-shaped custom padding raising her hips higher than her head.

Forty people surrounded Frank and the girl in the house’s sprawling basement dungeon, watching the scene with rapt interest. One of them was Tara’s husband, who leaned a shoulder against the nearest oak support column. Roy was a wiry Dominant with thinning blond hair and a long bony face. His hazel eyes were fixed on his wife with protective intensity. Though he loved bondage and emotional domination, Roy often said he couldn’t bring himself to hurt his masochistic submissive. Rather than deprive her of what she needed, he liked to arrange for someone else to provide the impact play Tara craved.

Apparently, Frank had volunteered to provide the foreplay this time. And foreplay was all he’d be getting out of it; Tara and Roy never had penetrative sex with anyone but each other.

Alex intended to make it up to Frank—and God, she couldn’t wait. Captain Kyle Miller, host of tonight’s party, had been singing the big Dominant’s praises for years. She gathered they’d served in the Navy together before Cap retired and returned to Atlanta with his wife, Joanne.

Now Frank and his bullwhip had moved to the area, too. Alex looked forward to sampling his skills. If Cap was to be believed, Frank was the Dom of her dreams. Alex believed him, since the Millers took their kink seriously.

Just look at their basement dungeon.

Running the whole length of the huge brick colonial, it was a suitably menacing space with cement block walls painted flat black, recessed lighting, and square oak support beams, also painted black. Home dungeon or not, it was as well furnished as any upscale New York sex club, with spanking benches, St. Andrew’s Crosses, stocks, cages, manacles, and just about anything else horny kinksters could use in pursuit of an orgasm. Cap had built the majority of the equipment himself; he was, according to his wife, good with his hands. She usually leered cheerfully when she said it.

At the moment, several pieces of that gear had been shoved aside to give Frank room to swing his whip. Tara lay at one end of that space, spread wide and chained down in all her glorious submissive nudity.

CRACK! The popper—the fringe at the very tip of the bullwhip—struck her reddening ass. The lash ought to sting like a bitch, but Tara seemed to feel no pain. Just the reverse, judging by her pleasure-drunk moans.

He’d built the intensity slowly, starting with a spanking, then progressing through two different floggers—the first deerskin, the second with thinner tresses that left thin red lines against her creamy skin. The blows he’d given her were just hard enough to make her squirm, pant, and occasionally yelp. Only when he judged her properly warmed up had he brought out the bullwhip.

A single tail could cut like a meat cleaver if you didn’t know what you were doing—or inflict nothing more than a sharp sting if you did.

Frank knew what he was doing, and he was careful about doing it. He had to be. He was a Dominant, a practitioner of BDSM—a blended acronym for Bondage and Discipline, Dominance and Submission, and Sadomasochism. It was too easy to hurt somebody badly if you were careless playing BDSM’s edgy sexual games. No orgasm was worth that.

Still, for people like Alex and Frank, sex was an extreme sport: at its most exhilarating when spiced with danger.

Between clusters of strikes, the big Dom caressed Tara’s pussy and reddening ass. The combination of pain and pleasure had sent her flying into what the community called “subspace,” a high caused by a combination of endorphins and adrenaline. Pursuit of the floating euphoria drove subs to seek out Dominants like Frank. Skilled, a little sadistic, with a keen understanding of a submissive’s sexual needs.

The whip cracked into another hissing arc. Frank watched Tara as if savoring every twitch of her lush ass and flex of her fingers, every heartfelt plea and whimper. As he moved, he swung the whip with a bullfighter’s elegant grace.

Alex figured him at 6 feet 5 or 6 inches, maybe two hundred and forty deliciously muscled pounds. Frank’s shirtless torso was brawny enough to make Michelangelo’s David grit his marble teeth in envy. Adding to his erotic appeal, his long legs were clad in faded jeans tucked into polished leather riding boots. God, she’d always had a thing for riding boots.

He had the perfect Dom’s face, handsome but intimidating. His nose was just short of hawkish, while his broad jaw had a strong cleft chin. He wore his black hair in a military cut that emphasized the angularity of his features.

As if to belie the stark male aggression of the rest of his face, he had a dreamer’s mouth. Lower lip plump, upper with a pronounced bow, it looked soft, deliciously kissable.

Alex couldn’t wait to kiss that mouth—and work her way down the rest of Frank’s glorious body to the erection bulging behind his fly. Sweet Jesus, it looked like he’d stuffed a rolling pin in there.

Patience, Alex. Captain Kyle, their kinkster matchmaker, had promised to introduce them after the scene.

CRACK!

Powerful muscle rippled along Frank’s right arm as he popped the whip against Tara’s ass. The sub caught her breath, then let it out in a long, erotic groan.

“Rate it,” he ordered. His smoky voice seemed to curl around Alex’s aroused body like sandalwood incense.

Tara moaned something that definitely didn’t sound like pain. He strode around the spanking bench, wrapped a huge fist in her cascade of curls, and jerked her head back with a Dominant’s showy snarl. “When I ask you a question, you damned well answer. Talk to me!”

“Uh . . .” The girl panted. “I don’t . . .” Yeah, she was definitely flying, as stoned on endorphins as a Woodstock hippie on a joint the size of a redwood.

Frank glanced toward Roy. Tara’s husband nodded and picked up the blanket and bottle of water he’d had waiting for this moment. The physical aftereffects of subspace could include a drop in body temperature and blood sugar; a responsible Top came prepared.

Crouching by Tara’s head, Frank began talking to her in a low voice as her husband joined them.

“I’ve always thought you can tell the most about a Dom by what he does after he puts down the whip,” Calvin Stephens commented from Alex’s right. He was a tall young man with the build of a marathon runner, flamboyantly displayed by a submissive’s leather harness and snug black shorts. “An asshole would walk away and let Roy handle the aftercare. Frank’s doing his part, which says something about his sense of responsibility.”

Cal turned to the man next to him with a wicked grin on his narrow, clever face. His white teeth appeared to glow against his dark skin. “You give great aftercare, too, sir.”

Ted Arlington snorted and folded his arms. His black tee revealed impressive biceps. He had a broad, intensely masculine face with a wide mouth, a round bulb of a nose, and a thick blond mustache. Though a head shorter than his lover, he was all muscle and power. Anybody who tried to target Ted in a game of “beat the cop” soon regretted it. “You’re just saying that because I always give you cock as part of the package.”

Cal grinned wickedly, dipping his dark gaze to the zipper of his Dominant’s black leathers. “And what a nice package it is, sir.”

“Suck-up.”

“But you like it when I suck.”

“You’re pushing it, subbie.”

“Every chance I get, sir. More fun that way.”

As her friends flirted, Alex’s gaze slid across the basement in search of Frank.

He’d helped Roy unbuckle Tara from the spanking bench so the two men could wrap her in the blanket. Roy half-carried her to one of the couches that stood against the walls. Pulling what was probably an energy bar from his pocket, Frank sank down beside the couple to unwrap it for her. Meanwhile, Roy helped her with the bottle of water she was too buzzed to manage on her own.

“Cal’s right, Frank does look like a good Dom,” Alex said, with a nod toward the trio. “I’m impressed.”

Ted eyed her, a blond brow lifting. “That’s not saying much. Hell, Gary impressed you.”

Alex forced a smile to hide her flinch. “Well, Gary was very pretty.”

“So’s a coral snake. I still wouldn’t fuck one.”

“Sir,” Cal put in, “you do know gay men are supposed to be sensitive, right?”

“Sass me one more time, subbie, and you’ll be sensitive for the next week.”

Cal sighed under the weight of world-weary skepticism. “All I get are promises. Sad, empty promises.”

“You do know your ass is getting more stripes than a zebra’s?”

“God, I hope so.”

Ignoring that, Ted turned to her. “As for you, I want to talk to this Frank before you traipse off to scene with him. You ain’t getting hurt by another Danger Dom on my watch.”

“Ted, Cap wouldn’t fix me up with somebody like that.”

“I somehow doubt the Captain has ever slept with Frank, much less subbed for him.”

“You’re not mistaken, sir,” Cal assured him. “Cap definitely doesn’t bat for our team.”

“And how would you know?” Alex narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Been flirting?”

“With the Captain?” He recoiled in mock horror. “God, no. He scares me. He looks like Captain Picard’s bigger, meaner brother.”

“You are such a nerd, Cal.”

“Hey, my mom’s a fan. She raised me on reruns of Next Gen.”

“Your mom,” Alex drawled, pumping skepticism into her voice. “Riiiiiiight. Tell it to somebody who doesn’t know you and fellow fanboys. I’ve heard y’all argue Kirk versus Picard on the Captain Coolness scale too many times.”

“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again—Kirk is much cooler. Take how—”

“I’m serious, Alex,” Ted interrupted. “This Frank guy makes Gary look like the ‘before’ fatty in a Bowflex ad.”

“Don’t worry, Dad, I’ll be careful.”

“None of your lip.” He glowered at her. “Don’t think I won’t whip your little ass as hard as the subbie’s.”

“Better watch out, PoPo,” Cal put in, using the slang term for police he’d made her nickname. “He means it.”

“Yeah, okay, I hear you.” Her gaze slid back toward Frank again.

Ted turned to his submissive. “I just wasted my breath, didn’t I?”

“Might as well try to blow out a forest fire like a candle on a cake. She’s completely under his evil spell.” Cal’s voice turned dreamy. “His muscular, towering, evil, evil spell.”

“I am definitely whupping your ass.”

Cal merely grinned, looking distinctly smug at the prospect.

*   *   *

The redhead was driving Frank Murphy crazy. Alex—they’d exchanged e-mails, but she hadn’t revealed her last name yet—wore the proverbial little black dress that hugged some luscious curves. Throw in lace-stocking-clad legs in stiletto heels, and it was no wonder he was tripping over his tongue. Which was unacceptable, especially when he was providing aftercare to somebody he’d just whipped into subspace.

Focus on Tara, dammit. He’d told Roy he’d take care of his wife, and he’d do it if it killed him.

Be easier if he could throw a burqa over Alex, though. Those legs . . . God, the Leg Fairy had been good to the girl. Endless as a Fallujah patrol, with long, lean muscle in thigh and calf that flexed every time she twitched a do-me heel. He’d bet his Budweiser she ran every fucking day. He’d love to have her wrap his ass in those legs while he ground in nice and deep . . .

No wonder he had a hard-on up to his navel.

Tara, dammit. Get your mind back on Tara. Discipline usually wasn’t this big a problem. Between Iraq, Afghanistan, and his mother—and all their respective IEDs, whether literal or not—Frank knew how to gut through almost anything.

Roy looked up at him over Tara’s blond head. “I can take it from here. Go talk to Alex.”

He stiffened. Was his distraction that damned obvious?

“You done good, Frank,” the Dom reassured him. “It’s going to take me three hours to pull Tara down out of orbit . . . assuming she stays awake that long. I only know about Alex because Cap’s been planning to set you two up for months.”

“Ah. All right. Look, thanks for trusting me to scene with your wife.” Smiling, he shook Roy’s hand as he rose to his feet. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Don’t I know it.” The blond Dom gave his wife a tender smile as she leaned against his shoulder. Tara sent him a slow, dazed blink in return. “See you later, Frank.”

“Later.” Starting off through the crowd, Frank scanned for his host, wanting the introduction Cap had promised him.

“Nice scene, son,” a voice rumbled from behind him. “You flew that girl like the space shuttle.”

He turned with a smile. “Not as high as you’d have sent her.”

“Now you’re just flattering an old man’s ego.” Captain Kyle Miller was a tall man, wiry and tough, with a fringe of gray hair around an otherwise bald head. That blue-eyed stare of his could make even Frank want to drop his gaze. His black slacks and navy golf shirt covered a build that was still respectable, though his SEAL tours in ’Nam were forty years in the past.

“Let’s go get you properly introduced,” Cap said, and turned to lead the way through the basement. Classic rock pounded in the background as people in latex, lace, and leather gathered around assorted bondage gear, preparing for their own kinky scenes now that Frank’s bullwhip demo was over. “Y’all made contact yet?”

Frank shrugged, sidestepping a naked girl walking on a leash behind a short Domme in a green leather catsuit. “Exchanged a few e-mails, a photo or two, chatted on the phone a couple of times. Enough to know both of us have tested negative for STDs recently. I’ve been so busy getting all the requirements done for the new job—not to mention stuff with my mom—that we haven’t managed an actual date yet.” He frowned. “Alex hasn’t told me much, beyond that she’s not married.”

Cap shrugged. “I’m not surprised. She’s pretty deep in the closet, as far as the Scene goes. Most everybody at the party tonight is.”

“Including me.” Being known as kinky could get you fired or ostracized. People had even lost their kids over BDSM.

Which was why, as in the movie Fight Club, many kinksters never publicly discussed what they’d done, where they’d done it, or who they’d done it with. The price of running your mouth could be entirely too high.

As his attention focused on Alex, Frank put out a hand to stop his friend. “Who’s the guy? The glaring blond fireplug with Alex and the black kid. I thought she wasn’t involved with anybody.” The man wore the leather pants and black T-shirt that was a popular uniform for Dominants. The kid—he looked to be in his mid-twenties—was dressed in an artistic arrangement of straps, the male submissive’s answer to lingerie.

“That’s Ted. He and the kid are a couple.”

“So what’s with the glare? They in a ménage with Alex?” Frank was the last man to poach. Not after Sherry.

“That’d be damned near incest, the way Ted is about that girl. You’d think he was her daddy, he’s so protective.” Cap grimaced, as if at an unpleasant memory. “The glare is probably because Ted absolutely hated her last Dom. Not that you could blame him. That one was such a prick, he should have worn a condom over his head as a warning to the rest of us.” Correctly interpreting Frank’s wary expression, he added, “Don’t worry about Ted, I’ll deal with him. You concentrate on Alex.”

“Okaaaay,” Frank said, dubious. He wasn’t sure he needed any more drama in his life.

Alex turned toward him, pivoting on those incredible legs, gleaming red hair curling around her shoulders, her little black dress hugging bra-challenged breasts and curvy hips. When she saw him, a smile lit her face like a sunrise.

On the other hand, what’s life without a little drama?

*   *   *

Good God, he’s huge, Alex thought, staring up at Frank Murphy as Cap performed the introductions. She wasn’t used to being towered over, especially not in heels that had her scraping 6 feet 1. If he got drunk and disorderly on me on the street, I’d have to shoot him. Otherwise he’d kick my ass.

Of course, if she did shoot him, the rest of the female population would rise up en masse and lynch her. The man was even more mouthwatering up close than he’d appeared from across the room. His chest alone seemed to take up her entire field of vision. And she definitely approved of the view.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Alex,” Frank said, engulfing her hand in a big, callused palm and long, strong fingers.

“I can definitely say the same.” His eyes were deep and dark gray, staring into hers in the kind of hypnotic Dom stare that made her want to give him anything he wanted. Especially if what he wanted was her. She suspected her smile looked besotted. Her nipples had hardened into tiny erections. His eyes flicked down to the tight silk bodice of her dress, then flicked up again, darkening hungrily. She swallowed. “Impressive flogging demo.”

“You do seem to know your way around a whip,” Ted said. The words were complimentary. The tone was dubious.

“I’ve sacrificed many pillows to the bondage gods.” Dominants were often told to practice their whip skills on pillows until they could throw a lash precisely where they wanted it. It was a hell of a lot harder than it looked. “Damned near lost an eye once, too. You can bet I never forgot those safety glasses again.”

“Good for you. Got any references?”

“Yes, and I already checked them,” Alex told Ted, losing patience. He was deliberately trying to yank Frank’s chain.

Cap moved up behind her friend and clapped a hand on the shorter man’s beefy shoulder. “Come on, Ted, I’ll get you a beer.”

“I don’t drink when I’m sceneing,” the cop growled, glaring at Frank like a protective father trying to warn off a Hells Angel.

“Then I’ll get you a Coke.” The ex-SEAL dragged him away. Cal rolled his eyes, gave Alex a wink, and followed them.

One dark brow lifted, Frank watched them head for the refreshment table set up beyond the bondage equipment. “Protective, isn’t he?”

Alex sent a fond smile after her friends. “Can’t seem to break him of the habit.”

A woman yowled as her Dom barked a command over the classic rock booming from the sound system. At the moment, Jim Morrison badly wanted someone to light his fire. Alex had to raise her voice to be heard. “Want to step into the other room? We can’t exactly talk in here.”

“That depends. Will Ted feel driven to defend your honor?”

“I’ll protect you.”

He grinned at her, gray eyes crinkling over wolfish white teeth. “Got a deal. Want something to drink? I’m dry from that flogging.”

“Sure.” She followed him over to a cooler and took one of the canned soft drinks he handed her. Neither of them reached for a beer. Ted was right; only an idiot drank when he scened. BDSM was dangerous enough stone sober. Besides, the whole point of kinky games was the pursuit of a different kind of high.

Someone yelped as his Domme swatted his ass with her riding crop. Morrison was getting insistent about his fire.

Rising to her tiptoes, Alex called into Frank’s ear, “Want to head somewhere quieter? There are a couple of private scene rooms across the hall.”

“Yeah!” Frank called back. “I can’t even hear myself think in here. It’s for damn sure we can’t negotiate.”

Together, they wound their way through the crowd and out of the main dungeon into a hallway. Three smaller rooms and a powder room lay opposite, with the stairs leading to the rest of the house at the other end of the hall.

Two of the rooms were occupied, judging by the lusty sounds coming through their closed doors. Fortunately for Alex’s frustration level, the door to the third room stood open. She threw Frank a questioning look. He shrugged. “Why not?”

Leading the way in, he flipped on the light to reveal a home gym instead of the pocket dungeon they were expecting. A treadmill, a small wall-hung flat screen, and a set of free weights shared space with a stack of padded mats that probably did duty during yoga or self-defense practice. Or knowing the Millers, sex.

“What do you think?” Alex asked.

Frank shrugged. “At least we can hear what we’re agreeing to.”

She closed the door, muting Morrison’s wail. Frank was right—nobody scened without negotiating. There was a BDSM saying: once trussed like a turkey, you didn’t want to discover your plans differed from those of the guy with the whip.

The skirt of her Little Black Dress was just loose enough to let Alex lower herself down on the stacked mats. Frank sat next to her, stretching his long legs out and crossing his booted feet at the ankles.

“Nice job getting Tara into subspace, by the way.” She popped the top on the Coke and took a sip. “Not that I’m surprised. Both your references had good things to say about you.” She might be an adrenaline junkie, but Alex wasn’t stupid; she’d called his former subs. BDSM attracted its share of abusive assholes, as Gary had painfully demonstrated. “They said you play responsibly and have a chivalrous streak that’s surprisingly wide for a guy who likes riding crops. And judging by the way Cap sings your praises, you may be his favorite person on the planet. Except for Mrs. Cap, of course.”

“Cap’s a hell of a guy. He taught me the ropes when I was just starting out on the scene.” Frank eyed her over his Mountain Dew. “He thinks a lot of you, too.”

“Really? Cool.” She leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the way his gaze skimmed the length of her legs. “What’d you think of my limits list?” The question didn’t sound quite as casual as she would have liked, though she hoped her tension didn’t show.

He grinned, flashing white teeth. “I’m shocked—shocked, I say—by your wanton depravity. And I’m wanton to fuck your brains out.”

She grinned back. “Smartass.”

“You do know I’m going to have to punish you for that?” He delivered the threat in a velvet purr that made her want to squirm.

“Feel free.”

“Mmmm.” Frank gave her a slow, wicked smile. “Our tastes do seem to align pretty well.”

Alex had thought the same thing when she’d read his list of hard limits—things he absolutely wouldn’t do—soft limits—things he’d consider doing—and fantasies. It had read a lot like the one she’d written about her own tastes.

On the other hand, she’d thought she was a good match with Gary, too.

Sobering, Frank studied her, as if sensing the battle between her doubts and her desire. “Why don’t we see how this evening goes?”

Alex blew out a breath. “That might be wise.”

He started to lean toward her, only to stop. “May I kiss you?” A polite Dominant never touched a sub without permission.

Her heart began to pound. “Yes.” She swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’d like that.”

Hot approval flared in his eyes, and he lowered his head toward hers.

His lips felt just as soft as they looked, tasting of Mountain Dew and masculinity. One big hand came up to cup her cheek, his fingers long and strong and warm. His broad body curled around hers, making her feel sheltered and protected. It wasn’t a sensation she was used to. She was surprised at how seductive it was.

She reached for him, feeling the hot flesh of his ribs under her palm.

And sighed, melting into him.

CHAPTER TWO

God, she tastes exquisite, Frank thought, his mouth moving gently, carefully, on hers. His tongue traced over the soft curves of her lips until they parted in a low moan of passion. He entered slowly, drinking in the sex and sin of her mouth.

Alex moaned, her body lithe against his, hands pleasantly cool on his bare chest. Her nipples felt hard as cherry stones beneath the snug bodice of her dress. His cock, already hard from the sight of those prima ballerina legs, jerked at the sensual promise in her kiss.

Before today’s flogging demo, it had been a year and a half since he’d even spanked a sub. Between training for his new job and taking care of his mother, he hadn’t had time to search for a lover. After what had happened with Sherry, he hadn’t been in a hurry to look. At least not until Cap had started singing Alex’s praises.

No wonder I’m losing it. I’m deprived. His lips twitched. Or maybe depraved might be closer to it.

She eased back a fraction and opened her eyes, vividly green, a little dazed