Hard Hits 2
Training Ryan
Forced to dominate his professional life, Dr. Ryan Barrow has always wanted to be a sub. Late one night, Ryan flies out with the Air Care team to save wounded officer Trent Lakeland. As the night fades away, Ryan feels heartbroken at the possibility of never seeing Trent again.
Trent is a Dom that will no longer be able to hear the words of any sub he takes. He can’t believe that a head injury has left him deaf and suddenly feeling alone. Things change when Trent is put in charge of training Ryan for his new position as a SWAT doctor.
Ryan is lovesick for Trent and secretly wants him as his Dom. As they both fight the undercurrent of passion, Ryan knows there is no way they can be together. Trent proves him wrong when he starts Ryan’s submissive training.
Ryan has given Trent his body to dominate, but can he give him his heart, too?
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), BDSM, Contemporary Length: 30,807 words
TRAINING RYAN
Hard Hits 2
Tatum Throne
EROTIC ROMANCE MANLOVE Siren Publishing, Inc.
ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at [email protected]
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Erotic Romance ManLove TRAINING RYAN
Copyright © 2013 by Tatum Throne E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-649-2
First E-book Publication: March 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers, If you have purchased this copy of Training Ryan by Tatum Throne from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.
This is Tatum Throne’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Throne’s right to earn a living from her work. Amanda Hilton, Publisher www.SirenPublishing.com www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
For my boys.
TRAINING RYAN
Hard Hits 2
TATUM THRONE
Copyright © 2013 Chapter One
The wop, wop, wop of the helicopter’s rotor blades cut the choppy nighttime air.
Dr. Ryan Barrow looked down on the scene from his seat in the helicopter. Paramedics on the ground were frantically working on the officer. Things were not good. The gunshot wound to the officer’s head was serious enough for them to call for a care flight right before a thunderstorm was due to hit. They didn’t have much time before Mother Nature would cut loose and ground their flights. Rain was already starting to hit the glass. Lightning splintered across the sky a mile out. They were going to cut this one close.
From his position, his cop looked lifeless. Fear, anger, and resentment tore through Ryan’s heart before he clamped it all down to do his job. He couldn’t think with emotion. He had a job to do.
Adrenaline pumped through Ryan’s veins. Waiting out the landing was always the hardest part of the job as a flight doc. He wanted to jump out of the helicopter with the team before they even landed. The tall grass went flat under the downward gust of air hitting the ground. As soon as they were inches above grass, Ryan tore open the side door despite the protest of his pilot. He ducked under the blades. The rest of the team was a few steps behind. He had his medic bag in his right hand as he raced across the field.
Ryan slid to his knees. His blue flight suit collected dirt and mud as he took over.
“Dr. Barrow, what’ve we got?”
Ryan listened as the paramedic rattled off vitals. Ryan made his own assessment. “What’s his name?”
“Trent Lakeland.”
Bullet holes were in the officer’s shirt. Ryan slid his gloved hands over the holes, feeling the hard bulletproof vest beneath. Officer T. Lakeland was written on his shirt. His gaze went to officer’s head. He looked familiar. Ryan couldn’t recall where he’d seen him before, but he was certain he knew this man.
Heavy gauze covered the wound on Lakeland’s head. Ryan lifted the edge of the gauze, taking a glimpse. He always expected the worst. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he saw that the damage was done mostly to the right ear. There was no entry wound. They needed to go. Head injuries tended to bleed hard even in the best-case scenarios.
A minute later, the flight team had him strapped down to a backboard, carrying him to the helicopter. Ryan slipped on his headset to communicate with the team. The whirl of the rooters starting back up buzzed in the background. Nurse Jen cut away Lakeland’s clothes. Trent was starting to come to.
“Trent, can you hear me? I’m Dr. Barrow. You’ve been injured in the line of duty. We’re taking you to the hospital now.” The cop moaned, lifting his hand to his head. “Strap him down.”
Jen worked his free arm down, strapping it to the gurney. Ryan got another look at the injury. Lakeland most likely had some internal damage to that ear, and a concussion on top of it. There was another impact injury to the back of his head below his other ear. His vitals were good despite the impact injury to his head. Ryan put on his stethoscope, listening to Trent’s chest. Slowly, Ryan lifted his gaze to his patient, who was watching him closely. Another zap of familiarity coursed through Ryan’s blood. Why couldn’t he place him?
“Make the call to trauma. Let them know we have a gunshot wound and an impact wound to the head,” Ryan said.
Jen grabbed for her phone and dialed.
Ryan reached down, squeezing Trent’s hand to reassure him that he was going to be okay. Trent grabbed on tight, not letting go until Ryan had to pull away. They landed on top of the hospital. The team on the ground had the back doors open. They lowered the gurney to the ground, locking the wheels. Wind whipped around the hospital as they raced across the rooftop, into the elevator, and down into the emergency trauma center. Neurology and the trauma surgeons were in the room waiting as they passed their patient off. Ryan gave his assessment to the trauma doc. He glanced back at Trent and saw his blue eyes locked on him. Ryan got ou
t of the way.
“Ryan, you okay?” Jen asked.
Was he okay? Ryan couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew the officer from somewhere, but he couldn’t place him at all. “It’s hard letting them go.”
“We have to be ready for the next flight,” Jen said.
If the storm didn’t ground them first, Ryan thought. “I know.”
Doctors surrounded the bed. This patient was going to live. Ryan was sure of it. He was damaged, but alive. Ryan wondered if he’d ever see him again. Ryan snapped off his gloves and washed up. He was drying his hands when his beeper went off. They were flying out again despite the approaching storm.
Chapter Two
Doctors surrounded his bed. Panic raced through Trent as he saw the flight doc who brought him in backing away. He didn’t want him to go. The doc hesitated, but was quickly pushed out of the way. Trent felt as though there were bricks stuffed in both of his ears. He looked frantically around, searching for where the doctor went. Trent saw him across the room talking with a woman. Just then, the doc glanced over his shoulder. Their eyes connected. The doctor glanced down, unclipping a beeper to read. The look on his face changed dramatically. Trent knew that look. It was work mode. It was then he walked away. Trent knew him from somewhere. Had he pulled him over for speeding one time?
Something was seriously wrong with his hearing. The right ear was registering nothing. The left whined with a high-pitched drone that he wanted to swat away, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. A shift in pressure made Trent’s left ear pop. Pain ricocheted down his neck. He cried out. The ringing in his ear ended. He couldn’t hear anything at all. He could see the doctor’s lips moving, but he couldn’t understand a damn word. The doctor flashed a penlight into his eyes.
“I can’t hear anything,” Trent said. The doctor on his right snapped his hand at a nurse who whirled away and returned with a small whiteboard. The doctor wrote on the board, and it was put in front of him.
Can you hear anything we’re saying? the doctor had written. Cold fear sliced through Trent. He started to shake his head no, but the neck brace stopped him from doing something stupid. “No. Is it permanent?”
The doctor took back the board and wrote, We’ll have to run some tests. Your ear has some heavy damage from the bullet. You did something to the underside of your left, too. You’ll need some stitching up. You have a concussion. We’ll be keeping you for observation for a few days.
A few days.
Something cool was given through the IV in his arm. Trent knew it was something to take the edge of pain off. His head pounded. His head spun with pain. Sweet relief melted through him. He didn’t want to close his eyes, but he did. Maybe this was all a bad dream. Maybe he had overslept, missing his shift. Maybe he hadn’t taken a bullet to the head like a rock skipping off water and then a header into their suspect’s car windshield. Just maybe he’d wake up and everything would be all right.
Sunlight marched across the room, slapping Trent in the face to wake him up. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so hard and so well. He opened his eyes to the bright light that came with all hospital rooms and realized the good sleep had everything to do with the pain medication they’d been giving him for the last few days. Trent sat up, reaching for the phone before he remembered that he couldn’t hear a damn word anyone was saying. Frustration had him slamming it down, and annoyance had him wishing he could hear the crunch of plastic on plastic. There was a pen and a pad of paper next to the bed glaring back at him.
A woman in a white coat and a man dressed in street clothes came into the room. Her lips moved as she handed him the pad she was writing on. Trent read the words as silence echoed around him.
I’m Dawn, the social worker on the neuro floor, and this is Cole, an interpreter the police department has hired. I’m here to talk to you about some sign language classes.
“I don’t need any sign language classes,” Trent snapped.
The social worker flinched. Silence echoed in his head. He hated how he couldn’t hear his own damn voice, but could feel the violent rumble of it in his chest. It was like being underwater with no chance for surfacing. Two days ago, the doctor had gone on and on about nerves, the structure of his ears, and the damage done. Bottom line, he was broken. He couldn’t be fixed.
Cole used his notebook to write something, and he shoved it into Trent’s face. I don’t give a fuck if you want my help or not. You’re going to need it.
Trent thought about his job with the K-9 unit. He was going to do everything in his power to get back to the job he loved. The last he heard, TJ was caring for Shadow while he was laid up. His work with K-9 wasn’t the only thing Trent had to worry about. On the side, he helped his sister, Mia, in her photography studio when she needed it.
Cole raised one of his dark-blond-tipped brows. Tall and thin, he looked barely twenty-five. He was right. Trent needed help to get through this tough spot in his life.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” Trent said.
The social worker wrote something in her notebook and gave it to Trent. I’ll let you two get acquainted.
Cole pulled up the doctor’s chair next to the bed. He wrote in his notebook. Let’s start by learning the curse words.
The social worker left in a wake of Chanel No. 5. Trent tested his nose, inhaling the woman’s perfume again. Maybe it was true about his other senses taking over for his lack of hearing. Then again he couldn’t ever remember a time when he noticed a woman’s perfume. It was a man’s natural scent that did it for Trent.
The notebook was pushed onto Trent’s lap. Cole had written five words. Fuck. Shit. Damn. Bastard. Pussy.
Cole lifted his hands and signed, “Fuck.”
Trent lifted his hands and mimicked the word with both hands. His hands felt clumsy and stiff. Cole signed the word again. This time he showed him how to position his hands better and how to emphasize the word. It took Trent three tries, but he finally got the movement down. Cole grinned and started on the next word.
They flew through the curse words. Cole took a piece of paper out of a folder. It was the alphabet. They started with A. Trent frowned, unable to concentrate fully on the task at hand. That doctor on the flight team had looked so familiar. Trent wondered if he was ever going to see him again. He hoped he would.
Chapter Three
It was all for charity, Ryan reminded himself as he undressed, leaving only his black boxers on. Ryan headed into the cool studio to watch Parker finish up his shots. Ryan froze. It was the cop their flight team had picked up seven months ago. Trent Lakeland. The cop. His photographer. Recognition followed memory. They’d been using Mia Lakeland as a photographer for their calendar shoots for years. Trent often helped Mia in the studio. That was how he knew Trent.
Ryan checked Trent out. He looked good. Trent’s right ear was damaged, but the trauma surgeon did a good job of putting it back together. Ryan was certain if he’d gotten close enough, he could see the scars from the impact injury below his left ear. Trent was beautiful. He had honey-blond hair cut military short around the sides, but kept it a bit longer on top. It was nothing like Ryan’s coal-black hair that was way overdue for a cut. Ryan suspected that Trent only bothered to run his hands through his hair after he stepped out of the shower to spike the blond strands on top. A faint scar curved around Trent’s right forearm and disappeared under his rolled-up dress shirt. A few days after he was shot, Trent was released from the hospital. Ryan had reviewed his chart to see the outcome of his visit. Permanent damage was done to both ears. He was now deaf. There was some question around surgery for his left ear to regain some hearing, but it wasn’t recommended at this point.
Trent must have felt Ryan’s eyes caressing him. At that moment, he lowered the camera in his hands and looked over his shoulder. Surprise made his eyes go momentarily wide. A slow grin lifted the corner of his lips as Trent’s appreciative gaze went from Ryan’s head to his toes. A shiver vibrated through Ryan’s body at the way T
rent’s gaze turned possessive and a little bit hungry before he turned back to the set. Ryan studied the man at Trent’s side. Who was he?
Parker was given the all done. His long hair was down around his shoulders and not back in his trademark braid.
“Hey, Ryan. I didn’t expect to see you this week,” Parker said.
“I leave for SWAT training tomorrow.”
Parker grimaced. “You’re going to get your ass kicked.”
“I’m ready.”
“I was thinking next year we should do the calendar shoot on location. Maybe Maui,” Parker said.
Distraction kept Ryan’s gaze half focused on Trent. Mia was helping Trent adjust chains in their hands. Ryan’s gaze dropped to Trent’s ass when he stepped onto a stepladder to work a chain around a tree. He had a really nice ass. The kind a guy could sink his hands into. “That’s a great idea.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll even help you coordinate the shoot. I gotta run. Have fun!” Parker teased.
Coordinate? What the hell had Ryan just agreed to? Another set was being used for Ryan’s shots. There were chains mounted off a wooden forest scene. Ryan felt his cock kick out, punching his cotton boxers. The BDSM scene was a fantasy Ryan had always wanted with a lover. He longed to be a sub. Shyness had kept Ryan from telling a lover that he longed to be spanked, whipped, and restrained while he was being fucked, sucked, licked, and taken. He was about to get teased with the fantasy with Trent. God help him, this wasn’t going to be easy to get through.
Mia dusted her hands off on her jeans as she came across the studio. “Ryan, it’s been ages.”
“I can’t believe how fast a year goes by.”
“You ready?” Mia asked.
No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t prepared to do what he needed to do in front of Trent. “Yep, I’m ready.”
Training-Ryan Page 1
