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Three people unable to let go of the past must learn that love—above all else—is worth fighting for.
Every night Jenna spends hours preparing submissives for their Doms at The Library. She encourages them, reassures them as they take a step into the forbidden and urges them never to settle. But when it comes to her own journey, she’s spent years hiding, trapped within the steel cage of her corsets. But she can’t hide any longer.
Nick has wanted her since the moment he laid eyes on her but she’s always told him no. Until now. She agrees to be his submissive for a night but he wants more…much more. He unwittingly brings in the one man Jenna never stopped loving and, on the cusp of everything’s he’s ever wanted, he’s not the only one fighting for her heart.
Ian can’t forget her…his Jenna. He walked away years ago, but not this time. This time he’ll settle for nothing but her complete submission.
Three people unable to let go of the past must learn that love—above all else—is worth fighting for.
The Members Only Series
Within the walls of The Library, a members only BDSM club, anything goes. It’s a dark oasis for every Dom and sub to discover their happily ever after. Screams of pleasure and pain echo through the walls every night, but beneath each cry lies a confession. Unrequited love, cravings of domination by more than just one, even the desire for someone of the same sex. Each member learns, to find their forever, they must unearth the strength to reveal…everything.
Jenna awakened in her dark bedroom, clutching her comforter as her heart hammered away in her chest. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her brown eyes to make out anything in the room but there were nothing but degrees of varying blackness. She slammed her eyelids closed again and held her breath—listening.
Someone was in her house.
No noise tipped her off. Not the stomp of a boot or a barking dog next door.
The feeling of being stalked scrambled up her spine, chilling her to the bone.
Her fight-or-flight response screamed through her system, and what did her mind cough up?
Dammit, I just painted my toenails. I’m gonna be so pissed if I have to repaint them.
She peeled the covers away from her body, thanking whoever was the patron saint of going to bed with a T-shirt and panties on. True, it was nothing but a short piece of jersey but it was better than naked. Fighting some asshole attacker with the girls swinging free just sounded like bad form.
A nervous giggle almost slipped out and she clamped a hand over her lips.
There was nothing like being punch-drunk at four o’clock in the morning after not sleeping well for two weeks.
She rounded the bed, making her way silently toward her bedroom door. A bat stood next to it, straight and true.
It might as well have been a mile away when the door squeaked open a few inches.
Her inner this isn’t happening took a backseat real quick to, fuck you, come and get it, dipshit.
Her fingers grazed the handle of the bat, just as the door swung open. The handle bashed into the far wall, trapping her only weapon behind it.
A big guy with spiky hair and dressed all in black, stood framed in the open doorway, his chest heaving. His face remained mostly in shadow but he didn’t wear a mask.
Jenna stumbled back, farther away from her savior, Mr. Slugger. She sucked in the biggest lungful of air she could manage. Opening her mouth to scream bloody murder was automatic.
Several things happened simultaneously.
He spun her around and clamped his muscled forearm under her breasts. He squeezed, trapping one of her arms and her cry for help. He covered her mouth and nose with his free hand, trapping her head tight to his shoulder.
She elbowed him in the stomach with her free arm, putting all her weight behind it. He might as well have been made of concrete. He barely even “oomphed”.
His palm shifted over her nose just enough that she could suck in a panting breath—she froze.
She inhaled deeper and moaned.
Hugo Boss cologne.
The kind that belonged to someone she would never forget. Nor forgive. It filled her head, relaxing all her muscles.
But the man holding her couldn’t be him. He’d walked away from her four years prior and she hadn’t heard a word from him since. And he wouldn’t have been able to find her. Wouldn’t have any need or desire to. She wasn’t even in the same state any longer.
Just because he owned one of the topnotch security agencies in the U.S. shouldn’t make her question her sanity. Not that she’d checked up on him or anything.
Her brain sparked back online again and she remembered she was supposed to fight. The guy behind her ran his stubbled cheek up the side of her throat, nipping her neck below her ear. Hard.
She gasped behind his hand, cursing her traitorous sex, as it went slick and needy from one well-placed bite.
“No screaming, gorgeous. At least not until I give you permission.” The rough cadence of Ian’s voice tickled her ear.
A moan fit for a porn star drifted from between her lips, wrapping them in intimacy she hadn’t felt since he’d left her so long ago.
The arm across her middle drifted down until he palmed her flat abdomen. The tips of his fingers pressed against the top of her mound, drawing her lower body flush against his groin. He groaned when she tilted her backside toward him, grinding against him with her Care Bear finest panties.
Sunshine Bear covered her ass, but she wasn’t feeling all that sunny. Fuck Me Bear would be appropriate or maybe Take Me Please Bear but apparently those panties were in the laundry.
“I can smell your pussy. Have you missed me? Ached for me?
She dug her short nails into the hand covering her mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove it.
He didn’t just walk away from her years before, he disappeared. After awakening the submissive inside her he’d done nothing but throw her to the wolves with no one to guide her.
She hated him.
He finally loosened his grip on her jaw enough to allow her to yell at him. Instead emotion almost suffocated her words. “Yes Sir. Every day. Every night.”
“Good,” he stated, nipping her earlobe as he pumped against her ass. Too many layers of clothing separated her from him. The patron saint of pajamas needed to take a hike.
He forced her mouth open, stuffing two fingers inside. “Get them good and wet.”
She sucked on them. She drowned in need while licking his thick digits. Tasting his flesh she moaned low in her chest. He tasted just as good as she remembered.
He held tight to her hipbone, guiding them both in their dry-humping marathon. His hips stuttered as she tried distracting him with her mouth. She’d learned a lot from the last several years without him.
He trailed light kisses down her neck, causing her knees to weaken. He bit down sharply on the sensitive skin on her shoulder, nearly buckling her resolve to stay standing.
Before she was satisfied he withdrew her treat, trailing his wet fingers down to the bottom of her shirt. He yanked it off, exposing the large mounds of her breasts to the slightly chilly air. She ached for his touch, for his tongue. He cupped the heavy globes, rolling her nipples between his thumb and fingers. Pinching them hard made her moan until she bit her bottom lip to keep from begging for him to take her. To own her.
He wouldn’t and she knew it. If she asked for something he’d take twice as long giving it to her. It was always like that. Somehow too much and not enough, all in the same touch.
He moved them closer to her nightstand, knowing exactly where she still kept her rope. Shibari lengths, natural dye, 6mm. He taught her to keep it close.
No matter how much time had passed, certain things he’d taught her couldn’t be erased. Almost as if the desires he stirred inside her, the love of rope, the practice and the dedication it took to be great were so integral inside her that they couldn’t be separated.
Pictures could be burned and clothing could be tossed in the trash, thrown out and hauled away to be buried in a landfill miles and miles away.
But the landfill in her mind?
Truckloads of dirt and cement to bury her feelings couldn’t eradicate what she became with him. Even a nuke couldn’t erase her needs. Emotions rose to the surface over and over, no matter how many times she tried to bury them.
He lived in her cells, in the muscles and tendons that stretched and moved as she wrapped the jute tightly around her ribcage each day. He poured from her body in each rivulet of sweat from her brow as she hoisted herself into the air attached to the steel suspension ring hanging from the ceiling in the open space in her kitchen.
She held her breath as he uncoiled the rope, staring at him in the near darkness, yet somehow able to see each move he made. The rope was a long lost lover as he wrapped it around her wrists. He tied a double rope cuff around both of her wrists, leaving loops on both sides. They made her girly parts tingle since they could be used for all sorts of deliciously dirty things.
His movements seduced her, pulling her down into subspace she’d only ever found with him.
Her eyelids fluttered until she could fight them no longer and allowed them to close, increasing her ability to feel and hear and taste him.
“It’s been four years, Jenna.”
“No, it hasn’t,” she disagreed with a slow shake of her head. Her hair whispered across her shoulders and she nearly giggled again. “It’s been four years, two months and eighteen days.”
She opened her eyes, knowing she would find him staring down at her. He trapped her wrists between his large hands.
“I stand corrected.”
He looked so sad and her heart—it struggled to beat inside her chest but remained silent. As if his touch alone could bring her back from the dead. She knew better.
Frankenstein had nothing on what she’d been through.
His intense stare never wavered from the laser sharp focus he had on her face.
Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she looked away unwilling to give him her emotion, her sadness or her love.
Not ever again.
He ruined her so many years ago.
She played but that was it.
Everything stayed on the surface. Sex gave her the ability to orgasm. It gave her time to find her center for a tiny fraction of a moment. Then the suit she wore to keep her heart safe slammed shut again, leaving her even more hollow than when she’d started.
“No.” He pulled her chin around and his warm breath tickled her face as he stared down at her.
The charged silence drew her to him, calling to her, whispering promises of things she hadn’t known since he left.
She held her breath and finally opened her eyes.
He took exactly what he taught her to love—
Jennifer Kacey is a writer, mother, and business owner living with her miniman in Texas. She sings in the shower, plays piano in her dreams, and has to have a different color of nail polish every week. The best advice she’s ever been given? Find the real you and never settle for anything less.