How could that happen?
Sure, Jonathan had me strapped down, he’d flogged me too, and pushed me through several orgasms. He’d fucked my mouth, as good as fucked my ass, and when he’d come hard and long, I’d struggled to catch my breath and my heart had beat so wildly it had nearly leapt from my chest. But it was all pleasurable and anyone watching would know that.
Wouldn’t they?
Either way I had the option of safewording. I knew during every second of the scene had I wanted it to stop it would have in an instant.
Mark Sands was scum to lure in a victim and draw blood like that. And to think he made a profit creating videos of it. It made me wonder why he’d picked a club for this one. Why he hadn’t chosen somewhere more private. Perhaps it had been opportunistic. He’d been there and so had she. Maybe he’d considered it worth the risk for the authenticity of the environment.
Well it hadn’t been. Because he’d yanked my chain, and my team’s, and I wasn’t going to rest until we had him locked away along with his filthy pervert friend Walter Riley.
My team.
I paced to the window, caged wildcat style, and thought of my team. One member in particular. What the hell was I going to do with Sean?
Sure, it was only his first day, but he’d proven the kind of SWAT officer he was with his rash stunt. And he was dangerous. That was the only way to describe him—tall, too damn good looking for his own good, and dangerous.
And tomorrow I had to do it all over again with him.
I wound my hands together. Restlessness had well and truly taken hold. The last thing I wanted was a team member who’d put Ricardo, Jonathan or Balko at risk. Ricardo and Jonathan were my lovers—I adored them, would do anything for them. Balko I was sure would soon slot into the team. He was a good solid guy, professional, dedicated. The kind of colleague you want to have your back.
It was dark outside and I marched into my bedroom.
The bed was uninviting. I wasn’t tired. I was too wound up.
Making a sudden decision, I pulled open the wardrobe and dragged out my gym kit. Black Lycra shorts, a short orange active-wear top that doubled as a support bra, and sneakers.
I’d hit the gym at the precinct. It was only a ten-minute drive away and would be empty this time of night. An hour of thumping out my irritation, kicking a bag, would mean I’d get some sleep later.
The night air was still warm and humid, though there was a slight breeze blowing in from the ocean. Even so I whacked the aircon to low in my car.
The streets were emptying. A cop car on patrol rolled past in the opposite direction, two officers I vaguely recognised peering out with solemn, slightly bored expressions.
Two women were on a street corner, clearly looking for business.
A guy on a skateboard wearing a sparkly purple jumpsuit raced over the road, carrying a McDonald’s paper bag.
Soon I parked up. Even though the gymnasium light was shining through the one high window, this end of the lot was empty. I breathed a sigh of relief. Company was something I didn’t need.
I grabbed a towel and water bottle from my bag in the trunk, then used my ID to let myself in.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The familiar thud of fists hitting a bag echoed towards me.
Damn it.
I wasn’t going to have the solitude I craved.
I braced myself as I pulled my hair into a high ponytail. I’d have to be polite, call hello, then get down to the serious business of burning up some adrenaline—while that was in my bloodstream I didn’t have a chance of sleep.
I walked in, taking a slug of water.
Fuck.
I recognised the long, tanned back and short blond hair of the man thumping and kicking seven shades of shit out of a red punchbag.
Sean.