Page 3 of Beckoning Liam

He avoided her spine with precision, honoring the trust placed in his hands. The large muscles of her back and thighsabsorbed the punishment, became one with it. After the initial shock, Becks’ frame surrendered completely, flowing like water under the disciplined barrage the Dom meted out. There was beauty in her capitulation, a strength in her vulnerability.

"Beautiful," he murmured, acknowledging the tableau they formed together—dominant and submissive, protector and protected, giving and receiving.

Alternating between the harsh kiss of leather and the deceptive softness of the vampire glove, the Dom painted a landscape of sensation across Becks' skin. The contrast between the flogger's sting and the glove's caress sent conflicting signals dancing up her spine, keeping her senses alight and her mind adrift in a sea of endorphins.

Finally, as the crescendo of their scene approached its inevitable end, the Dom laid down the flogger on the nearby table with a sense of finality. He stepped forward, his movements deliberate, the moment stretching between them, tinged with the poignant understanding that their exchange was nearing its end.

Gently, almost reverently, he began to release her from the St. Andrew's Cross, his fingers deft and sure. As each restraint fell away, it seemed to take with it another layer of the world's weight from her shoulders, leaving her lighter, freer. In the dim light of the dungeon, his silhouette loomed, both guardian and guide, leading her back from the edge to which he had taken her.

"Are you back with me?" his voice was a lifeline, pulling her from the depths of her trance.

"Yes, Sir. I’d prefer to go to the submissives’ salon," she replied, her voice a soft echo of who and where she was. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome. We can go up to the lounge.”

“No. I prefer to come back into the world on my own.”

The Dom nodded. “Then I’ll see you to the salon.”

When they reached the entry into the females-only space, the Dom said, “If you’re sure you don’t need anything else…”

“I’m sure, but thank you.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, thought better of it and then nodded before turning away. Becks almost wished she’d requested some kind of sexual aftercare. Normally, she would have enjoyed spending time with the hunky Irishman, but she had, as the poet had once said, miles to go before she slept—not so much in physical distance but in trying to figure out what she had stumbled upon.

Chapter Two

Liam

The sharp rap of knuckles on wood pulled Liam O’Shea from the contemplation of the Cornwall Terrace Mews and Regent’s Park just beyond. His gaze drifted from the glass pane to the conference room door. Fitz stood there, as always, impeccably dressed and inscrutable.

"Got a new assignment for you," Fitz announced without preamble, striding into the room with a file in hand, the urgency in his step belying the calm in his voice.

Liam's old military discipline seamlessly kicked in. "Details?" he asked, his tone low and even.

"Dr. Rebecca Ashworth," Fitz said, tossing the file onto Liam's desk. He recognized the name, and that recognition ignited a memory that was as exhilarating as it was disconcerting.

"Becks?" Liam's eyes narrowed slightly, his pulse quickening as he recalled the last time he'd seen her, bound and yielding on the St. Andrew's Cross. Her black hair, the color of a raven’s wing, had been pulled to one side and secured over her shoulder. "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

Fitz's lips quirked in a knowing grin. "Not if I say it isn’t, which I do. You're a professional, aren't you? Besides, she'sstumbled into something, and I fear she’s way in over her head. She disagrees, of course…"

“Of course,” chuckled Liam, believing Fitz was referring to his wife and some of the antics she got into. "Not really a surprise considering Becks likes to hang around JJ and Olivia." JJ was Fitz’s wife and sub, and Olivia was Lord Nigel Pederson’s, who had left MI6 to join Cerberus several years ago. The image of Becks’ naked, graceful, curvy figure on the cross, rushed to the fore. She was said to be highly intelligent and good at her job. A dangerous combination, indeed.

"Keep your head in the game, O’Shea." Fitz warned. "She might have played sub to your Dom here at the club, but this is different. This is the real world."

"I thought you always said the lifestyle was the ‘real world,’” Liam replied. “But I understand what you’re saying.” His voice betrayed none of the turmoil within. He opened the file and scanned its contents, his mind already shifting gears from the sensual haze of their previous encounter to the stark reality of the threat at hand. Becks' face stared up at him from the photograph clipped to the dossier, her expression serious, absorbed. It was a look he recognized all too well—the focus of a woman who never saw peril coming because she was too engrossed in her passion.

"Whatever she's found has some very bad people looking for her," Fitz continued, his tone grave.

"Then I'll make sure they don't find her," Liam stated, the words more vow than assurance. If his job was to protect her, any personal history would have to be locked away, compartmentalized. He'd do what was necessary. After all, when it came to safeguarding her, duty and desire were two sides of the same coin—a currency whose trade was all too familiar to Liam.

Liam watched her from afar for the remainder of the day, observing how she moved from lecture hall to the library to her office and back again. After entering the building, Liam searched the area before pausing outside the door, scanning the hallway a second time and opening it without knocking—a deliberate assertion of his presence—and stepped into her world of academia. She sat behind her desk, surrounded by towering stacks of papers, her focus entirely absorbed by the manuscript before her. Her black hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and for a moment, Liam was struck by the contrast between the Dr. Ashworth who commanded the lecture halls and Becks, who had surrendered to him on the St. Andrew’s Cross.

"Dr. Ashworth," he greeted, his voice a low rumble in the quiet office.

She looked up, her intelligent eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. "By choice, I don’t know your name. I had expected the club to allow me the same anonymity," she responded, her tone revealing her surprise. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Call me Liam," he insisted gruffly, unable to shake off the intimacy they had shared. "And I'm here at Fitzwallace’s request. He feels you are in danger." He crossed the room in three strides, his movements precise and purposeful, stopping just short of her desk.

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