by Sara Brookes
In the Rough
By Sara Brookes
The virtual world has always been a safe, comfortable place for tech consultant Marcus Holly. He favors working behind the scenes, joining the ranks of Noble House as the kinky club expands to offer a fully immersive VR experience. Then he meets the club’s resident Dom, Enver Furst, and all his carefully contained desires spin out of control.
Bondage-happy Enver relies too heavily on tactile stimulation to buy into Marcus’s VR playground. But when Marcus needs a skilled test subject to beta with, he only has eyes for Enver. The results are immediate and addictive: Enver’s never experienced anything this raw and powerful. He’s just unsure if it’s the tech he can’t resist—or the man.
Comfort zone deliciously shattered, Marcus’s sessions with Enver soon transcend even their wildest fantasies. But someone from Marcus’s past is watching, and his dangerous obsession will force Marcus and Enver to either fight for the reality they’ve created together...or see it shattered beyond recognition.
This book is approximately 85,000 words
One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise!
Carina Press acknowledges the editorial services of Mackenzie Walton
Dedication
To Mackenzie—for helping me make Noble House the best geeky kink club I could imagine.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Excerpt from Switch It Up by Sara Brookes
About Ragged Edge
Also by Sara Brookes
About the Author
Chapter One
“What the hell am I, the bag lady?” Enver scowled at the bundle of colorful plastic bags Saint handed him.
“Just smile and look pretty,” Saint offered. “It’s what you do best.”
Enver’s eyes narrowed. He knew his buddy Ford “Saint” Templar was a lot of things, but a swindler wasn’t one of them. “Cut it with the crap, asshole. I’m not some fresh-faced subbie at the club you’re trying to charm. You didn’t drag me all the way to Vegas to juggle these useless pamphlets.”
“I already told you I need you to dazzle the masses with your bright wit and shining sense of humor.” Saint laughed as Enver gave him the middle finger. “Because, you ass, you’re part owner of a club known for cutting-edge technology.” He slapped a flyer against Enver’s palm. “You’re interested and being responsible with your investment.”
Enver scowled as Saint smiled widely. “Yeah, yeah. I know I get a say in the money, but I’m still not sure how you roped me into attending a trade show about geek shit I know nothing about. Kochran usually handles this kind of crap. Or Ezra. Or any of a dozen other employees who have more brains than I do about computers.”
“You know as well as I do you can sniff out the bullshit better than anyone.”
Saint wandered off to a nearby booth, leaving Enver alone. Yeah, he owned one third of Noble House, a hybrid kink club that specialized in getting members off through computers, games and live-action play, but he still wasn’t clear how that qualified him for this kind of work. Supervise was more like it. He suspected that was the true reason Kochran had suggested—voluntold—Enver accompany Saint to Las Vegas for the show. A fucking desert. The least these geeks could have done was to have had their dog and pony demonstration in Hawaii. That sand gave way to the ocean. Palm trees. Water. Tiny bathing suits.
His sour mood wasn’t helped by the fact he’d recently had to break things off with his long-term submissive. Bracey had wanted him to be something he wasn’t. Wanted a relationship he wasn’t equipped to give. Though she’d promised she understood, he’d recognized the disappointment in her eyes as they’d come to a solution.
Nothing he hated more than disappointing a subbie.
A sudden slap of pain jolted him out of his thoughts. A blur of color dropped to the ground a few feet away as Enver’s shoulder throbbed from the hard contact. “What the hell?”
“Fuck, sorry, I’m late. Fucking shit.” The harried man unleashed a waterfall of curses as the papers he’d been carrying spilled to the ground. “Shit it all to shitty, shitty hell.”
Despite his annoyance at being slammed into, Enver bit back a smile as the man’s tirade continued while he collected a few sheets within easy reach.
“Need a hand?” Enver crouched without waiting for an answer, scooping up a handful of papers covered with indecipherable numbers and letters.
“Know the location of the closest Tardis?” The frazzled man snatched a bundle of paper closer, rescuing it from being embossed with a footprint watermark from a passing attendee. Absently, he tunneled his auburn hair into total disarray. “Christ, people have no respect for someone else’s work.”
As the man continued to gather his scattered paperwork, Enver regarded him with a keen eye. He was male enough to appreciate the man’s overall physique, but the scars marring one side of the man’s face were more intriguing. The discoloration along his cheek and jaw and neck was splotchy, dark red in some places while a light pink on others. The marks dotted the skin all the way to his ear and disappeared under the collar of his polo shirt, an indication the scars went farther. His gut clenched as he discovered he wanted to know more.
“I’m sure you’ll be able to put everything back in order.”
As though a geyser had exploded, the man suddenly burst into animation. He stood, waving the papers wildly around. “No, I can’t! It took me all fucking night to get everything straight. Do you have any idea how much this whole stupid thing is costing me?” The guy swung his arms wildly nearly taking out someone trying to pass. “If I don’t get this shit together, I can’t make a sale. I can’t pay for food. Or a place to live. I’ll be homeless and living in my car. Again.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Enver intercepted the man when he lost his balance as he tried to turn around. “Breathe, man. Take a couple of deep breaths or you’re going to hyperventilate.” He squeezed the man’s shoulders in encouragement as his chest expanded and contracted with each breath. A full minute later, things appeared to be returning to normal. “Nice and easy. There you go.”
“Sorry.” The man’s gaze finally lifted, the dark circles under his brown eyes indicating just how stressed out he was. He froze for a second, startled, as though he’d finally seen Enver for the first time. As he blinked, one side of his mouth lifted. “You must think I’m some wacked out nut job.”
The genuine embarrassment and half smile aimed Enver’s way caused a vicious tightness in his chest and nearly knocked him off his feet. Shit. He took a few breaths h
imself before responding with measured tones. “No, I think you’re overstressed about something you don’t have control over.”
The man ran his hands over his face. “You could say that.”
“Okay. First things first—let’s get this all picked up and get out of the main thoroughfare before we both get run over.” Enver crouched with the man, assisting in gathering the loose papers. It took them both a few minutes, but the simple process appeared to bleed off the visible tension from the guy’s shoulders.
“Thanks again.” The man held out his hand to take the paperwork Enver had collected and flashed a genuine smile. “I can get it from here.”
Enver realized he wasn’t ready to separate. Though he wasn’t certain if it was because he was interested to learn more or was still concerned after the panic attack. “I can give you a hand getting this stuff back to wherever you were headed.”
“You sure? Look like you’ve got your hands full already.”
Enver glanced to the bags he’d set down. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Great. Should only take a few minutes.” The man gestured with his chin. “I’ve got a booth a few aisles down.”
“Got all the time in the world. Lead the way.”
As they walked, Enver looked around the long aisles of company displays, a dizzying array of lights and sounds he likened to casinos or strip clubs. Everybody had their thing. For the people surrounding him, it was computers and smartphones and whatever the hell else sort of technology Enver didn’t give a shit about. The chaos of it all blurred together. Give him a set of ropes, carabiners and a handful of panic snaps any day over this jumbled mess of electronics.
“This is me. Thanks again.”
“No problem.” Enver glanced around the booth as he handed over the papers he’d carried. A few piles of open boxes were scattered near the separator curtain, but there was nothing that stood out about the booth. The vendors on either side had gone over the top with their displays, which made the bare bones area in front of him seem even more underserved. “So...ah.”
The man grimaced as he followed Enver’s gaze. “It’s not much, I know. Certainly not as elaborate as those weaselhead fucknuggets over there.” He glared at a nearby booth.
Enver burst out laughing as he leaned his hip against the table. “That is some inventive schoolyard name-calling.”
“What else do you call a bunch of losers hawking burned-out motherboards and faulty RAM sticks to companies needing a hand?”
“Speaking from experience, I take it?” Enver asked as he eyed the burned cuff of the man’s shirt.
“Just my annoyance talking.” The man rolled his eyes. “Not all of my equipment made it in time. Airline lost half my shit. My amped-up power supplies didn’t make it either, which is why I was trying to science the hell out of this piece of crap so I’d have something to display.” He tapped the edge of a burned circuit board.
“And the weaselhead fucknuggets sold you something subpar. Hope you got your money back.” Enver juggled his bags as he picked up a colorful pamphlet that looked exactly like the other hundred or so flyers Saint kept bringing him. So far, nothing set this guy’s company apart from the thousands of businesses trying to hawk their wares.
“BLINC.” Enver turned the nondescript advertisement over, frowning at the lack of explanation. “What does that mean?”
“Bio-Linked Inter-Neural Client.” The man gestured to pieces of equipment scattered around the booth. “All of this.”
“Clever.” Though Enver had no idea what any of it meant, he was enough of a businessman to recognize the man was trying.
“Don’t happen to work for the government, do you? Looking to offer a multimillion-dollar contract to the underdog?” the man asked hopefully.
“Alas, no.” Though Enver had no idea exactly what he was looking at on the shiny card stock, something told him this was the kind of stuff Saint and Ezra would salivate over. He still didn’t know why he’d been strong-armed into the trip, he could at least take the pamphlet and add it to the pile. “Have you got a card? This looks like something my partners might be interested in.”
The man grimaced.
Jesus, this guy was so all over the map it was ridiculous. “Let me guess...airline?”
“Would you believe the printer forgot to mail the box?” He barked out a hard laugh. “Nothing about this trip has gone right, but things are looking up.” He gave Enver a lingering once-over that signaled his meaning, his gaze almost feral. That heated glance continued as he licked his lips. “The website listed on the bottom has my contact info.” He plucked the pamphlet from Enver’s hand, wrote something in the top corner and handed it back.
Marcus Holly. And a phone number.
“That’s my direct line. Just give me a call if you have any questions or want a full demo.” Marcus pulled out a cell phone and snapped a pic. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to plaster your pic all over social media or anything. I’ll forget we talked later. Name to face sort of deal.”
“Enver Furst.” Enver hesitantly extended his hand, hoping Marcus wouldn’t be able to tell how heated his skin had gotten. As their hands connected, a buzz vibrated down his spine and collected at the base. That heady sensation was going to follow him for the rest of the day. Way more pleasant to think about than the torture Saint was putting him through. Maybe something interesting would come out of this trip after all. “I’m sure I’ll be in contact.”
“I look forward to hearing from you.”
* * *
He must think I’m a wreck.
Marcus watched Enver walk away, just like all the rest of his potential customers. At least this one had a mighty fine ass. The black jeans he wore enhanced his assets, lifting and separating them in perfect alignment. Marcus didn’t need to see to know the skin under those jeans was just as taut. Men with asses like that didn’t wear tight jeans without intending to show off.
His body had never reacted so quickly to another person. Watching Enver walk away left Marcus with a dick thickening in the confines of his pants and his pulse racing so violently his head felt like it was going to explode.
The harsh convention hall lighting had made it hard to judge the man’s age, but the touch of gray at his temples and the lines around his eyes indicated he was more than Marcus’s thirty-three years. Didn’t matter. Whatever the guy’s age—he wore it well. Damn well.
Older men didn’t usually do it for him, but there was something about the guy’s smile that had compelled Marcus to offer up his private number. Yeah, he’d been purposefully obtuse about what kind of business he was in, but Marcus wasn’t interested in just a contract. He really needed a job, but those were as hard to come by as fulfilling his other...requirements.
He didn’t believe in fated souls, but when he spent as much time as he did inside virtual reality, it was easy to trick himself into thinking such a thing was possible. That spark of connection caused all rational thought to flee.
And then reality set in.
It didn’t matter how much flirting or how many hot glances they shared. Not as though someone like Enver would be interested in someone like Marcus. No one had ever gotten past the damn scars he was forced to look at every morning.
A steady buzzing sounded overhead. He looked up to see a drone hovering over the area, a camera mounted on the underbelly scanning the vast crowd. There was nothing extraordinary about the quadcopter, and its presence wasn’t unusual during a convention, but something about it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Overreacting, Holly.” He scowled at the meager display he’d scraped together and realized his lack of setup was going to be displayed on YouTube for all the world to see. “Great way to make a first impression.”
His gaze fell to the next booth and saw the guys waving at the drone to get its attention. “Fucknuggets,” he muttered und
er his breath as he grimaced. The absurd curse had sounded completely different tripping off Enver’s tongue, that whiskey and smoke voice caressing each vowel and consonant like a lover instead of a disgruntled business owner.
He brushed off thoughts of the man and settled down to try to salvage what he could of the disastrous weekend.
Chapter Two
Enver sat in a chair with his legs crossed, feet tapping with the beat of the soft music filtering through hidden speakers. Though this area of Noble House was mainly used for aftercare, it wasn’t currently being utilized for that purpose. Instead, it served as his office. Of the three men who owned a stake in the club, Enver was the only one who didn’t have a designated space.
In truth, he didn’t need one. Why would he? He left the daily running of the business to Kochran and Saint. Besides, neither of them had this view. The oversized and overstuffed chairs were positioned directly across from what most members referred to as the club’s art gallery.
Boyce Denali, Saint’s husband, was also the club’s official photographer. Whenever he wasn’t serving as DM or participating in a scene with Saint and Grae, their wife, Boyce could be found documenting the club with the camera strapped to his neck. Enver not only admired Boyce’s work, he’d served as a model for him on more than one occasion.
The results of one of those photo shoots had been blown up and laid onto a canvas that stretched from floor to ceiling. Done in soft, muted colors, the picture depicted a submissive’s aftercare. Enver sat cross-legged on the floor, a satisfied sub cradled in his arms. Pink and red rope marks showed on her thighs and hips where she’d been suspended in Enver’s rigging. The shot had been difficult, both for the subjects and the photographer, only because Boyce had been struggling with personal demons. But they had been shed away long enough for him to capture the stunning image on the wall.
Too bad Enver hated the picture.
His shields had been stripped away, showing him at his most vulnerable. He refused to ask Boyce to remove it because Enver had recognized the glint in Boyce’s eyes when he’d snapped the last frame. If his weakness had allowed a good friend to heal, then so be it.
