Rapid Pulse: A Limited Edition Spicy Romance Collection

by Gina Kincade

  He glanced around the room spying a set of doors to a terrace. “Come with me.”

  On a huff, she turned, caught Remy’s eye and nodded before falling into step towards, through and out the door. Her temper up wasn’t enough to over-ride the chill air. They would not be out long.

  “I’ll give you five minutes to convince me. Talk fast.”

  He wasted only the moment it took to inhale.

  “Margaret, we all have secrets. I swear I’m not here to divulge yours. Though I will say I have far more questions about some of them from what I’ve heard about you tonight. I swear I’m here more as big brother than anything. He didn’t want to feel out-numbered at his own party. That’s all. I am not your competitor, I can’t be.”

  Maggie nearly growled. “Puh-lease. Cryptic much? Questions and swearing? Really? What do you actually mean? Clock’s ticking Chris. Spit it out or quit wasting my time. I haven’t got all...”

  He snared her and kissed her hard. She felt it all the way to her toes. When he withdrew, her shock hung on the air like her jaw in its open-mouthed gape.

  “Will you be quiet now and just listen? Good God woman. I can’t be your competitor. We work for, or with, the same people. Is that clear enough for you? Your dungeon, Ms. Red Queen, is in MY club. Do the math. I’ll keep your secrets. You keep mine.”

  Her eyes grew wide as she realized who he was, why he knew her as Joy, The Red Queen, how he knew when things changed, and why he had been MIA in recent long weeks. Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “Oh my god.”

  He was nodding. “Yeah. Oh your god. Now you get it? Will you please put away the doubt and daggers and trust me for two fucking seconds? I cannot divulge anything about you or your club. I wouldn’t anyway, but you know our contracts as well as I do. I can’t.”

  Maggie was rubbing her temples trying to process it all as he continued. “I won’t divulge anything about my club. Dolph wouldn’t ask for that anyway. As for ‘Joy’...that’s my favorite, so no, I’m not sharing her either. You are one of the few women I’ve ever known, or known of, who totally get that Dominance isn’t about sex but it is sexy. I know you are intelligent, use it. You have to know I’m telling the truth. Your doubt is honestly making me more shriveled than the fucking air could.”

  She shook her head and let out a huff of air. MEN! “You couldn’t have led with that?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have needed to. If you knew even half as fast at hearing my voice as I did at hearing yours, no I really couldn’t have led with that. Not that it would have given you any more reason to trust me. We need to talk. Tonight.”

  She glanced at the night sky stating the obvious. “It’s Monday night.”

  “Yeah. It is. You’re totally free to say no, but I have a proposal.”

  Somewhere in the pit of her stomach Maggie didn’t want to hear it because it would make perfect sense. She was right.

  “You’re in New York the next three days. Get your things ready tonight. I’ll pick you up and you can ride down with me. I’ll drop you anywhere you want, no questions, no strings. It’s three hours by car...we can talk.”

  It made perfect sense, but that made it tempting and dangerous all at the same time.

  “Let me think about it. We need to get back inside.”

  ‘Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it...’

  Chris dropped her at the valet stand at The Plaza. Maggie couldn’t believe she was there. She hadn’t been willing to have him drive out to her studio. She also hadn’t been willing to stay at his place. She’d blurted ‘The Plaza’ out as the only place in New York other than his club that she could think of. She figured she’d take a cab from there, but he was waiting.

  She’d hedged and chewed her lip for a solid hour at the party before saying her ‘goodnights’ and making her departure after slipping him her address in Fort Point. He’d picked her up in a dark sedan forty-five minutes later. It wasn’t surprising he had a driver; it seemed to the ‘thing’ for most of them with the long hours they kept. He seemed surprised when she only had a small bag. Everything she needed was already in New York.

  He hadn’t wasted time, jumping in nearly as they pulled from the curb. “So this is the infamous Swingers place?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know about infamous, but yes, a good share of the parties are held here.”

  “Do you swing too then?”

  Maggie wasn’t ready for that question and hesitated her reply. “I have, but the parties are generally not my scene. I would say more they are my attempt to provide an outlet that we can’t quite meet with our other businesses.”

  He considered it, questioning but neither approving nor condemning. “So it’s a service? You are an enabler?”

  Maggie smile awkwardly. “You make it seem clinical. It isn’t. You said yourself Dominance isn’t about sex, but it is sexy. Dominance isn’t alone in that. Everything needs its place. Swingers included. Maybe it’s for safety, maybe experimentation, maybe to figure out what you are and where you fit or don’t. My party’s leave all the doors open.”

  He was nodding along but obviously skeptical. He had left his poker face at the party. “But it’s a closed group. Surely after this many years they don’t need someone to provide it, they know where they fit.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Yes and no. They don’t know what the next party will be. Sometimes it’s free play. Sometimes it has a bondage theme or they have to figuratively strip away what makes them who they are. The idea is to open them to opportunities to be differently freed. One person’s comfort zone is another person’s trigger. You know this.”

  “I do. I’m just not sure I understand why you provide it.”

  Maggie laughed loudly and openly. “Because I want to, because I can, because it pleases me to do so. It is the ultimate dominance Chris. It becomes their pleasure to please me by partaking. It’s no different than our clubs; I just have more control over my parties because they give me the authority to take them where I want them to go. Not even as The Red Queen do I have as much power or trust.”

  He got it them. The light bulb clicked on behind his eyes. “My god. No one I know would ever see it that way. How did you?”

  “Some people call themselves Dom and abuse power. Some, are given power by a person for a time, making them a Dom. I decided I wanted more. I wanted to create something that was bigger, better, and would please me as a Dom, but not traditionally. I already have that. I don’t have a sub with a collar. I have forty, each with a golden ticket in their hand. The difference is, each one of them decides how to please me by pleasing themselves. It’s not the normal definition, but really, how much in our world is?”

  His mouth hung open. “Do you know how backward that sounds?”

  All she could do was laugh. “Yes. I do. I also know none of them see it that way. I have it all. I have those who want what I offer in the discipline realm. I have those who want bondage and submission too. The parties round out my chosen repertoire. I get by giving them what they cannot get any other way. I have ‘domination’” she made air quotes, “by giving them freedom to be everything.”

  He was shaking his head. “I get it. I don’t know why it escaped everyone else, we’d make fortunes.”

  She cut him off. “No businessman, we wouldn’t. The sticky of charging and enforcing dues over them takes away the freedom. They each find their own way to give back if you choose the right people. They are completely free with no strings attached. That motivates. Besides, if it were about money I could make it just as easily at your club or mine. This is different.”

  “I have no words.”

  “For?”

  “You. Margaret, I saw you throw and was impressed. I watched over and over again as you brought people from all walks to the edge in your room and tipped them over to free-fall into subspace with such finesse. You are an artist with a whip or Cat. Your other skills are equally good, but you have a passion when you throw. I love
to watch those sessions. Your clients obviously love it too. You are the most consistently booked room and I have a lot of rooms. I had to meet you, which left the phone.”

  They both laughed then. He continued. “I am always around but never seen. Other than the primary partners, Chas and now you, no one knows my face as owner. It keeps everyone on edge and sharp. But I had to talk to you. I had to know the mind of the person who threw will such skill and attention, but also reverence for the act of throwing.”

  Maggie blushed.

  “Your mind works differently than mine does, but it feels like mine opens when I talk to you. You make me see differently. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long now but have been tripping over myself and my own rules, unable to find a way to make it happen.

  I had no idea about Boston, and certainly no idea about the parties. I heard about the female owner at The Brass Cage and the description was wrong. There was no way. I heard she hosted parties for Swingers only earlier this night from Dolph before the get together and was intrigued.

  You walked in tonight, this petite blonde bombshell dressed for business, and while attractive, I was still yearning for a woman with flame red hair and a mean whip. Then I heard your voice. I nearly fell to the floor as all the pieces clicked together.

  It’s you. All of it. All of these amazing, intriguing women are all one woman, you.”

  Maggie had mashed her lips together to keep from interrupting. She wanted to hear this. It was killing her to keep quiet, but his not ‘love’ declaration broke her heart as though it were. As she had felt on the phone, his words said he had the same reactions she had gotten.

  “Margaret, you’ve had me in a tailspin for months and I didn’t even know all of who you are. I may not still. I have no words to encompass where my head is right now. You’ve obliterated me. There is nothing that resembles rational in me right now.

  I have to ask though because I have to ask, what about you? In your room at my club it isn’t about sex. Your parties with what did you say, one exception, wasn’t about sex. Our jobs as owners aren’t about sex, so what about you? When is it ever for you that way...or in any way?”

  Maggie chuckled softly. Such a male question. “I’ve dated. It seldom works. I’ve tried swinging, it’s not my scene. I’m a Dominant in nearly every possible context of the definition. One day it will work, and when it does, then it will be for me. It will be someone who not only understands and respects who I am and what I do, but someone who wants the same things. It will be someone who can be my sub but also my master because I’ve shared that power with them.

  Mama always said things happen for a reason and in their own time. My time will come. It just hasn’t yet.”

  His voice was low and rumbly like his laughter felt. “What if your time is now, right now? What if that someone is right here?” He tapped his own shoulder.

  Maggie’s head snapped around. His face was dead serious. Her jaw hung open but she couldn’t make it come back up. They had hit downtown and were crawling through the city. They would pull up to The Plaza sooner than she could respond.

  “I...”

  “Margaret you need someone willing to do and be all of it. Someone who wants to see you shine as you do what you do so well, but also someone who wants to take you to the edge and tip you over to free-fall into ecstasy too. I want to see you fall, but I want to be at the bottom to catch you as you drift down.

  I want to be the safe harbor for you to play and be free. I want to try anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but we’ll never know if we don’t attempt it will we? Tell me you are interested in trying.”

  Maggie’s brain had hopped on a carnival ride as they’d come around Central Park toward 58th. She couldn’t think. “I...”

  They pulled up at the valet stand and the door was opened for her. Without thinking she stepped out. He lowered the window, his face earnest.

  “It’s your move Margaret. I’ve put my pieces on the table. No surprises. It’s all your game now. Do you want a King to rule with? Come back or stay. I don’t do seconds. No is no, not maybe. It will be your final answer. I know the games you play and how you play them. This isn’t a game.”

  Maggie looked between the valet and Chris in the car window. He knew most everything now but the past. There would be no shock at what she did to earn the living she really didn’t need to make.

  She wanted to try. She was terrified to try. She reached for her inner Red Queen but found the traitor had checked out for the night. It was all her; shy, timid, clumsy her, standing alone.

  They’d been curbside at the valet stand for a solid five minutes as she debated herself. Memories of Thorne and a different final answer had snuck in and derailed her. She had to take back who she was.

  “Final answer huh?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid it will have to be.”

  Taking a deep breath, speaking with courage she didn’t feel, she gave her answer the only way she could get it out.

  “You might wanna shove over then. You’re sitting on my square.”

  About the Author

  Writer/Aspiring Author/Insanity embodied... Abyrne has taken the leap from method roleplay to putting his writing out there with a name to love, hate, loath, crave, resent, or recommend. First published in the 1980′s, he took a long hiatus to put down roots and build a family. Now that his daughters are older, the tide has turned and he can get back to personal interests, spending time pursuing the dreams he put in the closet to support his children.

  Where to Find the Author

  www.eclecticbardbooks.com/abyrnemostyn

  www.facebook.com/AbyrneMostynWordEnthusiast

  Other titles:

  Swingers (Fantasies, Fetishes & Flesh -book 1)

  The Dom’s Diary (Fantasies, Fetishes & Flesh -book 2)

  Wicked Perfection

  Magen McMinimy

  Wicked Perfection is a M/M/F Romance containing graphic love scenes.

  Copyright

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  When Malea’s best friend, roommate, and infatuation is arrested, tried, and convicted, she’s left alone. What she once loved about their cozy little apartment in chilly, fog-ridden, Northern California turns out to be too much for her still-aching heart. With her budding career as an author, Malea can go anywhere, and no place sounds better than the warmth and spice of The Big Easy.

  They say time heals, but it’s been over three years of Malea spending her time working, and searching for a connection to help her forget the only man she ever loved—unrequited as it may have been—the pain still stings as loneliness settles against her heart.

  When the Quarter fills with laughter and music in celebration of Mardi Gras, will Malea find what she needs in the crowded streets of the French Quarter? Or will an unexpected encounter change the game completely? As they say, Laissez Les Bon Temps Rouler...

  Chapter One

  Another crappy night... it had been another crappy night with a crappy guy.

  Malea tossed her keys with the cute owl keychain into the glass bowl on the entry table in her French Quarter townhouse. With a heavy sigh, she toed off her Jimmy Choo platforms and started down the hall.

  A light chirp and kissing noise echoed from the living room, brightening her mood. Peering into the dark room, she flipped on an accent lamp, and smiled at her African Grey parrot.

  “Hey, Bastien, where’s Jabba?”

  A mewing sounded from the couch and a grey-and-black head popped over the arm. Her older tabby blinked green eyes at her before flopping back onto the plush surface
of the cream-colored couch.

  “Lucky boy,” she muttered. “Looks like you two had a good night. I, on the other hand, had another failed date with a man who thought way too highly of himself.”

  Bastien squawked, and Jabba’s tail slapped against the back of the couch.

  Shaking her head, Malea started up the stairs towards her room. Drawing down the zipper of her black cocktail dress, she shimmied out of the soft silk fabric, and tossed it over the deep red arm of the antique Bergère Chair. Her entire bedroom was decorated with antiques that came with the place when she purchased the beautiful, nineteenth-century home. The rest of the house was more modern, but she loved the romantic feel of her bedroom. It was the only romantic thing in her life.

  Sighing yet again, Malea moved into her bathroom and piled her sable curls upon her head. Staring at her reflection, she couldn’t bring herself to wash off the makeup she had painstakingly applied for tonight’s date. Instead, she started the water and brushed her teeth. She then donned a pair of pink pajama shorts and a black tank with a pink rhinestone fleur de lis. An ode to the city she loved so much.

  New Orleans had been her home for three years now... She’d left a lot behind in California, friends, family, and a broken heart. Her love life hadn’t fared much better in the city that rarely slept and was shrouded in folklore and mystery, but she had new friends, one who made a point of forcing her out into the real world. Grabbing a pair of fuzzy socks, she slipped her cooled toes into the black-and-pink fabric and padded back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Lifting her gaze to the microwave, her shoulders slumped. Seven thirty on a Friday night and she was already in her pajamas, thinking about working. Grabbing a bottled water from the fridge, she moved into the living room, connected her iPhone to the surround sound, and put on a playlist of sappy love songs to fuel her writing. What was the old adage? Those who couldn’t do, taught. Well, for her, it was those with no real love life, wrote—about epic romances of course. Her editor would be on her soon for her latest novel, and in truth, it was nearly done, but something was missing. The final piece that would solidify the leads as the perfect couple. Although, she couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was.