by Fawkes, Sara
Pulse leaping, she scribbled her name down, and rushed to her kitchen table, shaking the light box
as she went. She tore off paper, then removed the lid, setting aside the note as the beautiful dress
inside gained her full attention.
Quinn...
She pulled the silk from the box and held it to her, the material so soft and luxurious against her
body. The dress was professional enough for work—which touched her deeply, because it showed
how much he truly cared for her and the image she needed to maintain as a lawyer––yet it was still
sexy and sophisticated and would showcase her curves in a classy, stylish way.
She searched the box, pulling out the tissue paper until she came upon a push-up bra, but no
panties to be found. A moan of excitement bubbled in her throat and her pussy quivered in erotic
delight as she thought about going to work sans panties, with no one it the world knowing but her and
Quinn.
As she thought about all the things he did to her, for her, during their whirlwind weekend, she
ripped open the note. As she read it, her heart leapt with joy, knowing she was the luckiest woman in
the world to have such an attentive and wonderful Dom like Quinn caring for her.
Emotions rose in her and heat settled deep between her legs but there was nothing she could do to
contain her squeal of delight rising from her throat when she read the note a second time.
“You are to wear this to work, and nothing else. I will be by to see you at some point during the
day, and if I discover that you’ve strayed from my instructions... you will be punished.”
THE END
More books from Cathryn Fox:
Hold Me Down Hard
Brazen in Whispering Cove
Silk in Whispering Cove
Pleasure Control
Fling (with Sara Fawkes and Lauren Hawkeye)
Cathryn is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything
chocolate (she never says no to a brownie) pizza and red wine. She has two teenagers who keep her
busy with their never ending activities, and a husband who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed
martial arts fan. Cathryn can never find balance in her life, is always trying to find time to go to the
gym, can never keep up with emails, Facebook or Twitter and tries to write page-turning books that
her readers will love.
Cathryn also writes Young Adult novels under Cat Kalen and co-writes paranormal romance as
Taylor Keating.
Visit Cathryn:
http://cathrynfox.com/
twitter: @writercatfox
Facebook
Wicked Writers
Allure Authors
Do you like what you just read? Read on for an excerpt from Cowboy’s Way, book one in the
Weekend Cowboys series, available November 25 from Entangled Books!
Cowboy’s Way Excerpt by Cathryn Fox
Copyright © 2013 by Cathryn Fox
Once she was naked, Coop pulled her into the warm stream and held her tight, enjoying the softness of
her skin against his. As the hot water fell over them, Julia made a sexy little noise that prompted him
into action.
He grabbed the soap and began lathering her body, running it over her curves, around her breasts,
and between her legs, taking extra care with her sore ankle. Quivering beneath his intimate touch, she
whimpered with pleasure, and Coop grinned, loving how responsive she was to his touch. Once she
was clean, she took the soap and turned it on him. She ran the bar over his body, paying extra attention
to his cock. She ran her hands along the length, and the sweet torture made him throb.
“I was thinking,” she murmured and wet her lips.
“About what?” he managed to get out as pleasure forked through him.
She favored her ankle as she stepped closer, her hands never leaving his cock as she rubbed her
hard nipples against his chest. “This time, I want to make you scream for me.”
Coop’s nostrils flared, and a growl caught in his throat. Truthfully, he loved that she cared about
his pleasure, and that she wasn’t simply out to take what she could from the cowboy, the way things
normally went down on the ranch. But Julia wasn’t like those other women, and Coop wasn’t a man to
take without giving first.
And oh how he planned to give...
He gripped her shoulders, and in a move that seemed to surprise and excite her, he turned her
around and braced her hands on the wall. Then he put his mouth close to her ear and said, “Don’t
move.” He heard her breath catch as he slid his hands around her waist to cup both her breasts.
“Because in my world, sweetheart, the woman screams first.”
Yield to Me by Sarah Castille
Copyright © 2013 by Sarah Castille
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal
Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of
this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express
written permission from the author / publisher.
Chapter One
“You’re afraid of submission.”
Kneeling astride a grapple dummy in the corner of the fight ring, primed and ready to test a new
submission move, Marcy frowned at the dark haired stranger squatting beside her.
“Sorry. Do I know you?”
“Jax. New coach. I’m here for the next six weeks to help Excelsior’s fighters up their game. Didn’t
Reid tell you I was starting today?”
Marcy shrugged. Reid, the club’s owner, probably had told her, but she rarely paid attention to the
politics at San Francisco’s Club Excelsior. She was here to train, not socialize. Be the best damn
MMA fighter possible. After disappointing her family at every turn, she had finally found something
she was good at, and if she won the California State Championship, she might finally make them
proud. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Jax frowned. The creases in his forehead did nothing to mar his ridiculously handsome
face. Seriously. What kind of fighter had no scars or scrapes, not even the sign of a broken jaw or
nose? And what was with the long hair? Thick and sable brown, just brushing the collar of his Team
Excelsior shirt and curling around his ears, his hair invited touching...and pulling. There was a reason
most fighters shaved their heads and why she French braided her hair before every fight.
Maybe he didn’t fight anymore. Maybe he was just what he said. A coach.
“I don’t need a coach.” She dropped over the grapple dummy, positioning her elbows on either
side of the dummy’s head, her legs tucked between the dummy’s thighs, taking the dominant position.
“You’re part of the team. The team says you need to up your game. You get me.”
Marcy huffed and shifted position for an Ezekiel choke from inside the guard. “I’m 4-0 by
knockout in my last four fights. Doesn’t get better than that. Which means...I don’t need a coach.”
Jax dropped to his knees on the mat beside her and folded his arms over his chest, causing his
impressive biceps to flex into tight, rounded peaks, straining the sleeves of his white T-shirt.
Surrounded by muscle every night at the gym, Marcy wasn’t usually affected by the sight of yet
anoth
er pair of pythons, but something about the way his muscles swelled against the hard planes of
his chest made her shiver despite the heat.
Or maybe it was the fact he couldn’t take a hint.
“See you round.” She dropped into the choke and turned her head away from him, waiting for him
to leave. Instead he leaned forward, so close his breath brushed warm against her ear.
“I watched all your fights on DVD. I’ve read all your interviews. I’ve been through Reid’s file. So
far, you’ve been lucky. None of your opponents were strong on submission, but all it takes is one
expert and you’ll be down for the count. If you freeze up every time someone puts you in submission,
you’ll never have a shot at the state title.”
She swallowed hard and pushed herself up, treating him to a cold glare. “I don’t freeze up.” At
least not every time. Her words sounded unconvincing, even to her. Could he sense the fear that had
niggled at the back of her mind since Reid had first identified the problem—the fear that maybe she
wasn’t cut out to be fighter?
“Show me.” His quiet demand caught her off guard and she shot another glance at him from
beneath the curtain of her lashes. His eyes were a soft brown, his lips perfectly sculpted, and his jaw
square. Broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist, long muscular thighs and a mouth-watering six pack.
But it was his sheer, palpable presence that gave her pause.
No. Not presence. Power. Raw power.
Her stomach fluttered. For the first time, her natural instinct to rebel failed. He spoke with
confidence, an absolute certainty she would obey. The imperative in his voice was such that she
doubted anyone ever challenged him.
“Ah...” She bit her lip to hide her internal disquiet and glanced quickly at the smooth,
expressionless face of the practice dummy beneath her. “Grapple Man isn’t very good for practicing
submissions.”
Jax cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Maybe not, but I am.”
Marcy’s heart thudded in her chest. “I’ve already practiced with a partner tonight. I don’t think...”
“On your back. Legs apart. I’ll mount and take the dominant position.”
She startled at his sudden command and heat flooded her veins, pooling between her thighs.
Flustered at her body’s response to words that were ubiquitous to the MMA world, she stiffened.
“Maybe another—”
Firm hands grasped her around the waist, lifting her off the grapple dummy and into the air.
Although strong, she was a UFC Flyweight at best and he handled her as if she weighed nothing.
Instinctively, she twisted to face him and kicked blindly, making contact, but instead of releasing her,
he carried her down to the mat, rolling her on her back. His hard, heavy body pinned her to the padded
vinyl surface. His hips pressed tight against the juncture of her thighs.
Shock stole her breath away. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t just a coach. She’d only seen moves like
that in the pros.
“Breathe.” His bourbon-smooth voice wound through her like a silken ribbon, loosening the
tension that had frozen her lungs, and releasing a wave of anger the likes of which she had never felt
before.
Who the hell was he to talk to her that way? Or touch her without her permission? Who gave him
the right to waltz in here and tell her she wasn’t fighting her best fight? What if someone was
watching and she didn’t fight back?
“Get off me.” She pressed her hands against his rock-solid chest and pushed.
Jax didn’t flinch. “Make me.”
She twisted and writhed, but despite her skill, he was simply too big, too strong, and too
experienced to be thrown. And yet, the sensation of being trapped under his hot, heavy body was
inexplicably erotic, sending a disconcerting pulse of desire down her spine.
Long dormant arousal flared through her veins, so intense she trembled. But with it came the
memory. Preston. Her heart squeezed and she drew in a sharp, shuddering breath.
“Marcy? Are you okay?” His brow wrinkled in consternation.
She gritted her teeth shook off the recollection. “As okay as someone can be with two hundred
pounds of muscle lying on top of them.”
Jax laughed. “True. Let’s even the odds.” He slid his hand beneath her and rolled until he was on
his back with her straddling his hips.
“Submission time.” He gave her a breathtaking smile, and in one swift movement he grabbed her
left wrist and tugged her arm across her body, pressing it against her carotid artery. His leg came over
her shoulders, hooking under his opposite shin in a basic triangle submission. He had only to increase
the pressure to cut off her air and make her lose consciousness.
Marcy froze and glared at his impassive face. Bastard. This was totally unfair. He was twice her
size, twice as strong. She lifted her head to preclude the full force of the submission and struggled to
bring her arm away from her neck.
“Yield.” His voice stayed calm and even.
“Go to hell.” She wriggled and struggled, trying to find a way of reversing or escaping the figure-
four lock, painfully aware of the proximity of her head to the generous bulge beneath his fight shorts
that she prayed was a cup.
He increased the pressure on her neck by pulling her arm farther and pressing down with his leg. A
warning. “Yield, little fighter.”
Fury overrode common sense. “No.”
And then Reid was there. Six-foot-three inches of solid muscle with broad shoulders and lean hips,
Reid had tattoos covering most of his massive back and chest. Too handsome for his own good, his
blond hair was cropped military short and three hoop earrings glistened in his ear. No one messed with
Reid. The once UFC Pro heavyweight champ had retired after a severe knockout almost cost him his
life, but he still kept up the same rigorous exercise regimen and he ran the gym like a military boot
camp.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m not training with him,” Marcy snapped, still unable to break Jax’s submission hold without
rendering herself unconscious.
Reid squatted down beside her and tilted his head to the side. His lips quirked up in an amused
smile. “Looks to me like you are.”
“Get him off me.”
“Tap out. Or have you suddenly forgotten how to fight?”
When Jax raised an eyebrow she almost refused. But she didn’t want to irritate Reid. She wouldn’t
be where she was without him, much less have a job at his family’s sporting goods store, and although
he would do anything for his fighters, he had a low threshold for disobedience.
With an irritated sigh she thumped the mat twice with her hand. Jax released her and swung his leg
off her shoulders.
“Looks like you have some fight in submission after all.” Jax winked and Marcy pushed herself
up, backing away until she was standing in the comfort of Reid’s shadow.
Reid glanced from Marcy to Jax and back to Marcy. “Jax is the best fight consultant in the
business. He’s here for four weeks to help our team get to the State Championships. Give him a
chance. His methods are unorthodox, but he gets results. I won’t let you throw away a promising
career just because you don’t like his techniques.”
Jax stood then leaned against the pillar, thick arms folded. Out of
the corner of her eyes, she snuck
another glance at him. She guessed he was six or seven years older than her, making him about thirty-
one or thirty-two. And so damned handsome it was almost a sin. Why couldn’t Reid have found a
plain coach? Maybe an old retired fighter, soft and slightly balding, with a bit of a paunch. Someone
without a strong, toned body and lean, powerful legs. Someone she wouldn’t want lying on top of
her...dominating her.
Her breasts tingled with the memory of his hard chest pressed tight against her and the ripple of
smooth, warm skin over rock-hard biceps as she struggled to get free. But it was the raw power
vibrating beneath the surface that set her blood on fire. Everything about him awakened feelings in her
she had buried long ago.
Jax’s face softened. “You want to be the best, Marcy? You want to win the State Championship?
You can’t be afraid of submission. You need to embrace it. Fight back. I know you’re on the card to
fight at TriStar’s event next week. I promise I can make a difference in one week. Let me help you.”
She held his gaze for a moment too long, a moment that made her heart pound and her mouth go
dry. Then she shook her head. “No, thanks.”
***
“Back in bed.”
Bare legs dangling over the side of the hospital bed, gown bunched up around her thighs, Marcy
startled mid-escape then Two Step’s voice boomed through her tiny hospital room. One of the few
Super weights in the club, with a heart almost as big as his beautifully dark, barrel chest, Two Step
had become her self-appointed guardian on her first day at Club Excelsior when he’d done her height
and weight check and pronounced her “baby size”.
He frowned when she caught his gaze. “I knew a rebellious type like you wouldn’t be able to sit
still once you woke so I told Reid and Jax I’d stand guard. Looks like I was right. Climb back into bed,
baby girl. You aren’t going anywhere. This is your punishment for not tapping out of that Rear Naked
chokehold and losing consciousness.”
Marcy gave him a weak smile, but with her head still fuzzy and her lips dry, she couldn’t engage
in their usual banter about the irritating nickname he had given her that had spread like wildfire
through the club.
Two Step’s smile faded in the silence and his corded neck tightened as he swallowed. “You’re
