Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

She exhaled slowly.

If she couldn’t go back, she had to move forward. If nothing else, the police officer’s death—as well as her husband’s—had taught her how short life could be and to fully live in what remained to her.

Here in San Francisco, she’d embraced that philosophy. Joined Dark Haven. Turned long-held fantasies into reality. She was no longer a novice in the BDSM lifestyle.

So where was Sir Ethan? Mistress Tara was demonstrating wax play on the right stage. On the left one, a Dom and his submissive were setting up equipment for their upcoming scene. Sir Ethan wasn’t at a table watching or at the bar near the far end. Or on the dance floor.

He’d probably gone downstairs.

She took the stairs down into the more intense environment of the dungeon. Here the music was punctuated by the sounds of impact toys like floggers and paddles, by groans and moans, harsh breathing, an occasional shriek.

To her disappointment, when she spotted Sir Ethan, he wore a dungeon monitor’s badge. He wouldn’t be able to play until he was off duty.

He gave her a wave and mouthed the word later . Oh well, he was worth waiting for. He was one of the best Doms in the club. Although he read her so easily it was scary, he hadn’t pushed when she’d said she didn’t want anything serious.

Too many of the Doms seemed to want to form a relationship—and what was with that? Didn’t they realize men were supposed to prefer keeping things light?

Shaking her head, she walked past a suspension scene where the Dom had flipped the submissive into head-down position to give him a blowjob. Lindsey bit her lip. Hanging in the air really took a sub’s control away. Adding oral sex into such a mix might be a bit much, and yet there was something wonderful about being able to please a Dom that way.

Farther down, a needle-play scene made Lindsey wince. The Domme had created a needle design on the submissive’s back that looked like fairy wings. Really painful ones.

Next, a gay Master was flogging two of his slaves, one and the other, working them both with an amazing skill, especially since one was obviously a needier masochist. But the Master seemed to be enjoying each.

At the end of the room was…deVries. Hell, she shouldn’t stop, but the sadist did such fantastic scenes that she loved to watch him, although the thought of taking so much pain made her sweat—and not in a good way.

As always, he’d attracted a number of observers, so she quietly positioned herself at the rear.

For some reason, his usual flogger was still in the bag, and he was using a violet wand instead. The male bottom, johnboy, was strapped down on the bondage table. Leather had been wrapped around his exposed testicles.

DeVries applied the wand here and there, obviously testing the bottom’s tolerance for electrical stimulation…and pain. After a few minutes, he used a cane on johnboy’s thighs, stomach, and chest, occasionally adding some light whacks to his penis and balls.

Lindsey realized her legs were clamped together in sympathy.

DeVries returned to the wand. Gradually, the bottom’s muscles grew rigid. He was groaning. Fighting. Sweating. Then as johnboy slid into subspace, his eyes glazed and his lips curved up, despite the way his body shook.

DeVries played him like a musical instrument, dropping the intensity before deliberately bringing him up to even more pain, over and over.

Heat curled low in Lindsey’s belly. Holy shit, she never, ever wanted pain like that, and yet she’d never seen anything so erotic in her life.

The audience grew. Conversations were kept to a whisper to avoid disturbing the scene. With a shock, Lindsey realized the man next to her was the bottom’s Master—and partner. She frowned and glanced at deVries.

As if understanding her unspoken question, Master Rock said, “Johnboy needs more pain than I’m willing to dish out. So occasionally, I hook him up with a sadist.” As his partner groaned, Rock watched with an indulgent expression. “I asked deVries not to let johnboy get off; I intend to reap the benefits.”

Well . That was different. Lindsey turned back to the scene.

The expression on deVries’s face was akin to the submissive’s. Intent, completely focused, showing both satisfaction and pleasure.

What would it be like to have all that attention focused on her? She actually felt her heart skip a beat at the thought.

Acting as if he had eternity to play, deVries switched to the cane again. The whapping sounds were drowned out by johnboy’s gut-wrenching groans. Faster. Harder.

At last deVries stopped and waved a hand at Master Rock. “All yours. Primed for action.”

And God, johnboy really was. He was so hard his cock pulsed with each heartbeat.

From the mouthwatering bulge barely contained inside deVries’s worn-soft leathers, he was in equal discomfort. Lindsey’s brows drew together. The arrangement was all good for the two gay guys, and yet, what about the sadist? He didn’t get relief?

Come to think of it, she rarely saw him fuck anyone here. And she’d watched him. Ever since she’d joined the club last spring, he’d fascinated her. Damned if she was sure why.

Tilting her head, she studied him as he cleaned his equipment and stowed it away. His hair was military short, his face lean with a strong jaw and well-formed hard lips. A frown line showed between his eyebrows. No laugh lines; he didn’t often smile. He wasn’t quite as tall as Xavier, but God, his broad shoulders and muscular chest under a black T-shirt made saliva pool in her mouth.

And the way he walked was simply deadly…as if it wouldn’t bother him at all to turn someone into a pile of bones and blood. Knowing how much deVries enjoyed dispensing pain, Xavier often asked him to administer punishment to unruly submissives—who’d nicknamed him the Enforcer.

Lindsey bit her lip. Why the hell did she have to be attracted to a sadist?

Now he was done with the heavy scene, what would he do? She felt a smidgen of pity as she watched him pack his toy bag, leaving the submissive tied to the table for Rock to enjoy. No one was there for deVries.

However, though most of the observers had left, several still waited, attention focused so intently on deVries they reminded her of sheep at feeding time. As he slung his bag over his shoulder and picked up his wand case, the submissives—male and female—went to their knees. Offering themselves. In the very front was HurtMe— one of the masochists he often played with. When the blond touched his forehead to the ground, Lindsey snorted. Obviously deVries would have no problem scratching his itch after a scene.

She started to leave and paused, wondering which he’d choose. Sub gossip hadn’t made mention of a favorite, which might simply mean the Enforcer was exceedingly private in who he was screwing.

At least, since she wasn’t kneeling, he wouldn’t think she was one of the applicants for his favor. She couldn’t take another insult.

When he assessed the offerings indifferently, her mood lightened. It was reassuring to know she wasn’t the only sub he’d ever rejected.

Without picking anyone, he headed for the stairs. As he neared Lindsey, she caught his tantalizing scent, wild and musky with a hint of clean masculine sweat.

He stopped in front of her. His gaze was hotter than a Texas summer sun as it swept over her feline costume—cat ears, furry bra, and leopard-fur boy shorts. Violence lurked in his eyes.

And the growl in his voice was unyielding. “Changed my mind. I could use some sweet wildcat pussy, and you’re up. I’m calling in my debt.”

“Wh-what?” The explosion of air from her lungs made his lips tilt…slightly. She shook off the disbelief. “You said no.”