Dreamspinner Press
Available in Print & E-book
Western/Cowboy,BDSM/Kink, M/M
Sequel to Lorcan’s Desire - A Whispering Pines Ranch Novel
It’s been a year since Lorcan James left Whispering Pines Ranch, and Quinn Taylor has barely recovered. Only two things keep him from falling into the abyss of despair: his work at the ranch and his escape into the world of BDSM at a club called The Push. At The Push, the sound of men begging him helps drown out the bitter memory of his own voice begging Lorcan to stay.
When Lorcan comes back to Pegasus, the same blistering heat simmers between them, but almost nothing has changed. Lorcan is still with Jess, the man he left the ranch with, and Quinn has captured the attention of Ty Callahan, a man who will beg Quinn for anything, anytime, and any way Quinn wants it. Despite how much he wants Lorcan, Quinn swears he’ll never beg a man again. If there’s one thing Quinn has learned the hard way, it’s that not even begging can fill love’s aching need.
Sneak peek Excerpt:
THE feel of the thick crop in his hand was like an aphrodisiac to his senses. Combined with the scents of leather, sweat, and arousal, it made Quinn feel like a god. Only two things eased his mind these days. First was working his ranch until every muscle in his body screamed for rest, only to push it further until exhaustion set in so deep that he didn't even dream when he finally laid his head down on his pillow. The second was the activity he was currently partaking in, one that didn't allow old memories to haunt him, his entire focus on the power that eclipsed his mind.
Quinn let his fingers ghost across the slick skin of a broad back. Felt the heat rise from the dozen raised welts.
His marks.
He pressed his bare chest against the man bound to the wall, eliciting a hiss of pain from him at the contact of sweat-damp skin. One hand coiled tightly around the thick crop; the other he let soothe up the man's arm until his fingertips met the cool metal of a shackle. Another hiss filled the air as callused fingers made contact with abraded skin.
“What are your safe words, boy?”
“Apollo and Zeus, Sir,” was the soft reply.
“Will you bleed for me, boy?” Quinn stepped back to groans of protest from his bound boy. “Will you?” he demanded.
“Ye… yes, Sir… anything.”
He tested the weight of the crop against his thigh again, though he knew its weight as if it were an extension of his own hand. “Why will you bleed for me?”
“Because you demand it, Sir.”
The whooshing sound of the crop as it sailed through the air sent a thrill through Quinn that exploded into a hot, burning fire as the crop cracked against exposed skin and elicited a cry of pain. Quinn watched with satisfaction as his mark split open ever so slightly. A small trickle of blood began to ooze from the wound. Stepping closer, he let the leather tip of the crop caress the taut ass, producing a shiver from the man's body before it tightened in anticipation of the next explosion of pain.
Quinn leaned in closer, his mouth hovering next to his boy's ear, letting him feel the heat of his body but denying him the contact of both his body and the crop. He could practically feel the tension in the muscles. The man fighting against the need to push back but unable to stop the tremble the desire produced. He turned his head, looked right into Quinn’s forceful gaze, and pleaded with his wide blue eyes.
“Eyes front, boy, or I'll blindfold you.”
The man's head snapped back, facing the wall. “Sorry, Sir… it's just….”
Quinn let the sting of the crop emphasize his words as he laid a stripe across his boy's ass. “You are not to look at me, not to speak to me unless it's to use your safe word or answer a direct question. Do you understand?”
His boy took a couple of panting breaths, trying to relax the tension in his body, before replying with a nod.
Quinn let the crop fly again, leaving a matching stripe on the other side of his ass, causing a groan to escape from the man’s chest. “That was a direct question, boy.”
“Yes… yes, Sir… I understand, Sir.”
“Good boy.”
Quinn took up his earlier position, once again letting his boy feel his heat but not his body. He knew denying his body would break the sub. What he wanted—no, what he needed—was to hear him beg. To cry out, beg for Quinn and only Quinn. He needed to dismantle, to destroy the man until only Quinn existed. Needed to know no one thing or being meant more to the man than Quinn did in this moment.
Quinn leaned in again and whispered, “Who owns you?”
“You, Sir. You can do what you want with my body. Beat me, fuck me, or walk away and leave me here aching. I am powerless against you, Sir. I cannot walk away from you until you desire it, Sir.”
The crop dropped to the floor with a thud as Quinn grabbed a handful of dark blond hair in his fist, yanking back hard. A grunt of pain was the only response, but it turned into a moan of desire when Quinn rubbed his leather-encased erection against his boy’s reddened ass.
Quinn pressed his lips against the tender flesh beneath his ear. “Beg me to stay with you. Beg me to fuck you.”
“Oh God, Sir… please, Sir… I ache.”
Quinn pushed his erection harder into his boy’s ass, at the same time reaching into his back pocket for the lube and condom he had tucked in there. “You ache because I demand it of you. But I’m not sure if you want it enough. Convince me, boy.” Pulling back slightly, he unbuttoned his leathers, releasing his near-to-bursting shaft.
Clutching his restraints in a white-knuckled hold, body trembling, he said, “I need you, Sir, only you… please, Sir….” The last words were a sob that wracked his boy’s chest, tears streaming down his face before he continued. “Only you, Sir… please, I only need you. I ache… nothing without you, Sir.”
Quinn froze, the condom he had been rolling onto his shaft forgotten. “What did you say?”
“Need you, Sir, only you.”
Pain exploded in Quinn’s chest, radiating out through his body in waves, his breath dying in his lungs. His blood froze in his veins as a haunting memory flooded his mind.
“I ache all the time, I’m nothing without you.”
He pushed away the painful memory with every bit of will he could muster. He forced himself to finish rolling on the condom, slicking his fingers and waning shaft with lube. Those memories had no place here. He wasn't the one begging, the one desperate. He was in control, and his boy would not leave him, not unless he allowed it.
Under his terms.
His rules.
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