Bite the Bullet

by Desiree Holt

  The Wild Rose Press

  www.thewildrosepress.com

  Copyright ©2011 by Desiree Holt

  First published in 2011

  NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others.

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  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  * * * *

  Rawhide:

  Bite The Bullet

  by

  Desiree Holt

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Rawhide: Bite The Bullet

  COPYRIGHT (C) 2011 by Bite The Bullet All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com

  Publishing History

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, October 2011

  Published in the United States of America Dedication

  To all my friends in the lifestyle

  who keep me honest.

  PRAISE FOR AUTHOR

  Desiree Holt

  AND HER BOOKS

  slapping Leather

  “Desiree Holt has proven again that she can write scenes that hook us from the start and turn up the heat every time.

  And a yummy Dom (or alpha guy) never hurts either.”

  ~5 Hearts—Vicky, Sizzling Hot Book Reviews

  ” Slapping Leather is wonderful story of how Liz is able to work through her past hurts and move on. Ms. Holt does not disappoint with steamy scenes and great story telling. She is consistently a favorite author of mine. From the first page to the last, nothing gets between me and my Desiree Holt books.”

  ~5 Cherries—Moonflower, Whipped Cream Reviews Eight Second Ride

  “As a follower of Ms Holt’s work I have to say that I have come to expect certain things when I pick up one of her books. Hot men, rocking sex and emotion. This kinky little title had it all.”

  ~Seriously Reviewed

  Back in the Saddle

  “Back in the Saddle by Desiree Holt is the perfect book for readers who prefer their cowboys with a little extra kink.”

  ~Long and Short Reviews

  Chapter One

  “Looks like a full house again tonight.”

  Clint Chavez closed the email he was reading and swiveled around in his chair to greet Reece Halliday, his friend and partner in the very private fetish club, Rawhide.

  “Yup. You called it when you said Performance Night would be a big hit. And it certainly drummed up business on a Tuesday.”

  They had discussed all the pros and cons for a long time, visiting other clubs where members were willing to stage specific types of performances for the other members and their guests. Clint hadn’t been so sure their clientele was the type to go for it, either as performer or audience. But Rawhide actually had a waiting list of those who wanted to stage an act, and members knew to arrive early or they’d end up standing through the entire show.

  The show also created sexual stimulation in the viewers, meaning the private rooms were booked up from the end of the show until closing.

  “Katie with you tonight?” Clint asked.

  Reece laughed. “Are you kidding? She wouldn’t miss it.”

  Katie Warren Halliday and Reece had been lovers years before, split, and reconnected when Clint, unbeknownst to Reece, hired her to manage Rawhide. The reunion had been a happy one, for Katie, the perfect submissive and Reece, the ultimate Dom. Even though they no longer needed the club to play, they still came to special events. Otherwise, the operation was left to Clint and his new manager.

  Reece nodded at the computer. “I see you’re reading my email again.”

  “Uh-huh. It seems we have a new provisional member coming tonight.”

  “She’s new to the area. The owner of the club I used to belong to in Tampa gave her a thumbs up recommendation.

  I’d trust his word on anyone.”

  “What do you know about her?” Clint asked.

  “Beside the fact that my friend says she’s tall, striking, super smart, and a Domme that subs crawl to for attention?”

  Clint looked at the email again. “She must be damn good to get this kind of recommendation.”

  Reece dropped into one of the chairs facing the desk. “I’d say so. He wouldn’t endorse just anyone. Especially since he knows we run as tight a ship as he does.”

  “And she wants to show up tonight?” Clint frowned. “Didn’t give us much warning.”

  “My fault,” Reece told him. “He’s been trying to get in touch with me about her for a week, and we’ve been missing each other.”

  “What else can you tell me about a woman who,” he peered at the screen, “raises bulls for the rodeo circuit? Odd profession for a woman.”

  Reece shrugged. “According to her file, she was married to a rodeo rider who apparently has two things to recommend him—he’s making a mint in endorsements and fucks every buckle bunny over the age of eighteen. She divorced his ass, got a fat settlement, and used it to buy Chuck McConnell’s place. Chuck and his wife wanted to retire, and neither of his kids was interested in taking over the ranch.”

  “Well, I guess it’s as good a way to make a living as any.

  But I’ll bet a woman who does that for a living is definitely an incredible Domme.”

  Reece chuckled. “Interested?”

  It was a very well kept secret that Clint was a natural sexual submissive. Most people looking at the man who stood six foot four with a muscular build, a classic masculine face, and thick black hair to his shoulders would never guest his sexual preferences.

  Clint shook his head. “You know I never mix business and pleasure. Makes it hard to set and maintain rules.”

  He maintained a membership in a club in Dallas and one in Austin. But he longed to find a relationship like the Hallidays had.

  “Did you look at the personal file her club sent?”

  “Yeah. Here it is.” He tapped a key and brought up a new screen.

  An expert at orgasm denial.

  Skilled at the use of a dildo to penetrate her submissive.

  Favors the use of male nipple clamps.

  Special toys include a fiberglass cane and a tire tread spanker.

  Often prefers to gag her submissives.

  Clint’s cock hardened just reading the notations, and a dull ache lodged itself in his balls. His attention returned to her picture at the top of the file. Striking didn’t begin to describe her. She posed in a bustier and leather boots, thick auburn hair cascading down her back, plump breasts swelling over the top of the bustier, neatly trimmed curls decorating a cunt revealed by the garm
ent. She held a thin whip in her hand and on her face was a look of challenge.

  Come and take it was all he could think of. The war cry of besieged Gonzales during the Mexican War, but this had nothing to do with a cannon and everything to do with a woman who promised the ultimate level of pleasure/pain. As he studied the file and the recommendations, his cock hardened and his balls tightened painfully.

  Swallowing a sigh, he turned back to Reece. “What do you think? She’s going to be your neighbor. Find out your secrets?”

  Reece laughed. “It seems more and more of my neighbors are learning about me. Especially since Liz Gillibrand married Alex Wright.”

  Liz owned the Lucky L Horse Ranch, and Alex was related to one of the girls who trained there. Although they’d met on neutral ground, both were shocked to run into each other at Rawhide. It had, however, been a fortunate meeting for both of them. Their relationship had blossomed, and only last month they’d had a small wedding that Reece and his wife Katie attended.

  “I don’t want that to become a problem for you,” Clint told him. “We opened this club to give both of us anonymity, if you recall.”

  “No problem. She won’t want notoriety any more than I will. And as you can see, she comes with impeccable references.”

  Clint shrugged. “Fine by me, then. When she gets here, bring her in and I’ll have her fill out a form for provisional membership. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “Who’s on the schedule tonight?” Reece asked.

  “Linc Stoddard and Melora Regan.” Clint grinned. “Good night for you and Katie to show up. There’ll be no sleeping at the Halliday residence tonight.”

  That couple always drew a crowd, mainly because Melora was the Dominant in the relationship. And Clint had trained her in the use of the single tail whip. She was an expert with it now and favored it over other forms of punishment. It was well known that she teased her subs first with sharp nipple clamps and butt plugs before treating them to the lash of the whip. Linc and Melora had met at Rawhide and recently moved into a more formal relationship. Tonight’s performance would be outstanding.

  “Well.” Reece stood up. “I’d better get out to the lounge.

  I’ve got Katie on the lookout for our guest. I can hardly wait to meet Miss Montana Steele who breeds bulls for the rodeo.”

  He winked at Clint. “I still think you should take a good look at her.”

  Clint laughed. “I intend to. Professionally, of course.”

  Montana Steele smiled at the man who asked for her identification. Once they accepted her as a member here—if they did—her name would be on the list. And if she came here often enough, he’d recognize her. She liked that about clubs like Rawhide. After a while, it got to be like an extended family.

  The man smiled at her, lifted a small radio to his mouth, and turned away for a moment. When he turned back, he was smiling again.

  “It’ll just be a moment, I promise.” He nodded at the padded bench against one wall. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  She was about to tell him she’d just as soon stand but realized there were people behind her waiting to get in and she was holding up the line. “Thank you.”

  She walked to the bench and sat down as gracefully as she could. She had no idea why she was so nervous. This wasn’t her first club visit by any means. But she was starting a new life here, everything was changing, and it was important that she get her life—personal as well as professional—in order.

  Sorel was a bitter memory, and she had no intention of repeating that mistake. She often reminded herself that his initials, D.S., actually stood for Dip Shit.

  Not for the first time tonight she wondered if she should even be here. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be in a social situation yet. Lord knew the bulls took up enough of her time and the hands grabbed for the rest. But her body was sending signals that it needed something more than friendly toys to bring it to orgasm and she hadn’t worn a skirt or primped for a very long time.

  What if I make another mistake? What if I find another Dusty?

  No. That wasn’t going to happen. She would compartmentalize, like so many others did. She’d allow herself so much playtime, find an appropriate sub or two here at Rawhide and take the edge of the erotic need that gripped her like a claw.

  She smoothed her hand over the leather skirt she wore, then crossed her legs, an expanse of thigh flashing between the hem of her skirt and the top of the high patent boots.

  Trying not to look nervous, she adjusted the short leather jacket, fiddled with the heavy chain around her neck. She was about to start counting the squares of slate in the floor when a deep voice sounded in front of her.

  “Miss Steele?”

  She looked up, and her breath lodged in her throat.

  Standing in front of her was six foot plus of the most devastating male she had ever seen in her life. He looked like Mr. Midnight with his black hair, a black silk shirt that draped easily over broad shoulders, and black slacks that emphasized lean hips and long legs.

  She stopped breathing, her body in some kind of limbo, as if she’d been transported out of this space. As if nothing existed except her and this man. Something powerful exploded between them and circled around them, binding them, invisible threads that were strong despite their lack of visibility. Montana couldn’t have moved if a bomb detonated next to her. She’d never had this reaction to another man.

  Not in her entire life. And she was sure, without a doubt, that the explosion had the same impact on him.

  Automatically her gaze was drawn to his crotch. She was sure the fabric of his slacks concealed a very impressive package.

  The corner of his mouth quirked in a smile, and she realized he’d seen exactly what she was looking at.

  Nice, Montana. Way to make a good impression.

  Taking a moment to even her breathing and steady herself, pull those threads back so she had some control, she rose with as much grace as she could manage, tossed back her thick mane of auburn hair, and held out her hand.

  “Yes. Montana Steele.”

  The moment their hands touched, the air around them became electrified, buzzing with intensity. When she looked at his face, his expression was composed, controlled, but his eyes registered the same shock at their contact. For a brief moment, she wanted to yank her hand back and flee through the door, calling over her shoulder that this was all a mistake.

  That she’d changed her mind.

  “Clint Chavez.” The timber of his voice vibrated through her. “I’m Reece Halliday’s partner.”

  His handshake was firm, but there was something so sensual about it she was almost reluctant to let it go. She hadn’t had that reaction to a man—any man—since she’d finally shaken the last vestiges of Dusty Sorel from her life.

  Not even in the few instances this past year when she’d ventured back into the club scene.

  “Miss Steele?”

  That low-timbered voice that had such a rich resonance broke into her thoughts, and she realized she was still holding his hand.

  Way to go, dummy. You can kiss a membership here goodbye.

  “Yes, sorry. Thank you for coming out to meet me.”

  “Actually, I guess we had a little misunderstanding. Reece thought he’d left your name on the list, and his wife has been watching for you in the lounge.”

  “Not a problem.”

  The problem is that, suddenly, the space around me seems too confined. That I can’t breathe. That there was some kind of karmic connection tugging at us I can’t deal with.

  “Let’s go say hello to Reece and Katie and get you situated. The performance will be starting shortly.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled back at him, hoping she’d managed to regain most of her poise. Then their gazes connected again.

  For just the briefest span of time, a look flashed in Clint Chavez’s eyes, but it was there long enough for shock to sizzle through her. Her breath was suddenly trapped in her throat. Unless her wel
l-honed radar was failing her or out of whack, this very alpha-looking male was a sexual submissive.

  Oh, god. This was more than she could handle.

  Run, don’t walk. Hurry away as fast as you can. Do not issue a silent invitation to the club owner, idiot. Especially when you’re still here only as a guest.

  Pulling herself together mentally as best she could, Montana let him guide her through the entrance hall into the lounge area. People were everywhere, filling every available space, laughing, talking in muted tones. Good. She needed the distraction of a crowd. She still felt wobbly and her pussy throbbed insistently with abrupt need.

  She’d worked so hard to shut herself off from this kind of attraction. She couldn’t let down the barriers now. She’d just have to find a way to avoid Clint Chavez whenever she came to Rawhide. Assuming, of course, they approved her for membership.

  Just beyond the lounge was a glass-enclosed area Montana recognized as performance space. And to the side of that were the rows of spectator seats. Some were already filled with people sipping drinks and chatting. Others held white tent cards indicating reserved signs.

  She was very familiar with performance nights. The club in Tampa held them at least once a week. In fact, that was where she’d met Dusty when he was trolling for a new Domme. But Dusty’s problem was his submissive nature clashed with his image of himself as a macho rodeo rider, so he was constantly “jumping the fence” to situations he could control. She’d put up with it as long as she could, but when she finally kicked him to the curb, she couldn’t even remember why she’d fallen for the narcissistic asshole in the first place.

  “Here we are.”

  Clint had steered her to a couple seated at a small table against one wall. As they approached, the man stood and offered his hand. It was her first glimpse of Reece Halliday, personal friend of the owner of the club where she had played.

  No doubt about this one. He’s got Dom written all over him.

  Height had always been one of her problems. At five ten—

  at least six feet with her boots on—she’d had trouble finding subs she didn’t tower over. But both of these men had a good four inches on her.

  “Reece Halliday. Nice to finally meet you. John asked me to make sure we took good care of you.”