Page 1 of Over the Line

Chapter One

Michael Dayton caught a whiff of spiced vanilla on the night air, and he turned his head to find the source.

The view of the woman passing by walloped him. He only managed a brief look at her face, not enough to make out her eye color, but on a primal level he noted the softness of her mouth and the sexy pout of her beautiful lips.

She kept moving in the direction of the Den’s firepit. Fascinated by her beauty, as well as her confidence, he didn’t look away. How could he? She was tiny, compact, with blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, the strands an untamed, riotous mass. She walked with determination, her hips swaying seductively as she navigated the uneven flagstone patio. Her grace was even more remarkable given the unyielding leather dress and her crazy-high heeled sandals. Even though the shoes added extra height, he doubted she’d reach his chin.

A need to protect flared in him. The sensation was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

Several times a year, he attended BDSM play parties here at the Den, a mountain retreat owned by his friend Master Damien. On occasion, Michael scened, and he’d been sexually attracted to many of the subs he’d played with.

But he’d only had this kind of visceral reaction one other time in his three decades. Recklessly, he’d ignored his intuition and the warnings of others and had ended up married within three months.

A few years later, he and his bride had been in court, and he’d spent most of his inheritance to hold on to the Eagle’s Bend Ranch. The two thousand acres had been in his family for over eighty years. If he’d lost it to some scheming bitch, his father would have haunted him from the grave. The lessons Michael had learned while rebuilding his life and fortune had made him harder, smarter, and significantly more cautious.

He adjusted his cowboy hat and continued to look at the blonde. She had joined a group of people near the fire. Her figure-hugging dress did as much—and maybe more—to arouse him as her nudity would have.

Until this moment, he hadn’t missed having a woman in his bedroom, tied to his rustic four-poster bed, arms and legs spread wide as she lay there for him, willing and waiting. Last night he’d gone to bed alone after masturbating to ease the day’s tension. Tonight, he hoped things would be different. He was glad he hadn’t simply tossed away the invitation to the Den’s late-summer party.

As if sensing his scrutiny, she glanced over her shoulder. They made eye contact for less than five seconds, but it was enough, more than enough for him.

Nearby, a male voice flatly stated, “She’s trouble.”

Michael blinked and reluctantly turned toward the newcomer, Gregorio, the Den’s caretaker.

“Don’t go there,” Gregorio advised, coming to a stop in front of him.

But Michael was already thinking about her, despite the fact she didn’t resemble the women who generally caught his eye. He preferred a more rounded, feminine form—a woman who could withstand the rigors of ranch life as well as his Dominant demands.

“Her name’s Sydney,” Gregorio said.

Michael was aware of Gregorio’s voice, but his focus was elsewhere. Sydney. Unusual name. He let it roll around in his mind. How will it sound when I say it aloud as I command her to her knees?

“She used to dance nude in a cabaret in Vegas and has a boa constrictor as a pet. It killed her last Dom and dragged him out to the backyard. She’s on the run from the law. We heard she’s wanted in ten states and two Canadian provinces.” Gregorio snapped his fingers near Michael’s face, jarring him from his reverie. “You listening to me, Mike?”

“What?” He shook his head and looked at Gregorio.

“I figured you weren’t listening, otherwise you’d have decked me for calling you Mike.” Gregorio chuckled. “If you want to play, there are a number of subs here tonight—they’re wearing the house’s purple wristband. That means they’re available for a scene, they know the rules, and they follow them. Any one of them would be much better for you than Sydney.”

Gregorio, as Damien Lowell’s right-hand man, knew things. Gregorio understood human nature and, since he tracked all the membership applications, he had insider knowledge of everyone at the Den. He served as a house monitor and sometimes participated in scenes. Because he was so well respected, Doms and subs alike listened to him. Those who didn’t often regretted their decision.

For the first time, Michael wanted to ignore Gregorio’s unsolicited advice. “I didn’t see a collar around her neck.” He took in the people she was standing with. “And she doesn’t seem to be here with anyone.”

“She doesn’t have a Dom.”

“I’ll bite. What’s wrong with Sydney?”

“Other than the snake and the problems with the law?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Michael asked, taking a sip of his energy drink and looking back at her. A waiter approached with a tray full of sparkling water, and she snagged a flute. Her back was to him, and he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her shapely derriere. “Is she a Domme?” He’d bet money she wasn’t.

“She’s a sub,” Gregorio said, giving the answer Michael wanted. “But one with no real interest in a relationship with a man.”

He blinked. “She’s gay?” Please God, no, not now that he was imagining her legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her slick pussy.

“She likes men just fine. What I mean is, she’ll start playing, if a guy interests her. If he bores her, she bails.”

“Meaning she’ll leave in the middle of a scene?”

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