Page 28 of Under His Command

“Scotch, Macallan, ifyou got it,” he ordered when the bartender inquired. After he nodded and walked off, Flynn turned his attention to the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the bar and assessed the Saturday night crowd. The club was exactly as he knew it would be—loud, crowded, and full of energy. Special events were popular, and always well-attended. While the BDSM club was electrifying in its own right, the masquerade added an extra layer of mystery and excitement. And, when the goal of the event was to bring in new subs, the membership turned out in full force.

When he’d gotten a personal invite a few weeks back from his old teammate, Eric Dupree, an ex-SEAL turned club owner, he declined. Then the SOB baited him, claiming he wasn’t getting any younger, and he’d better put himself out there before he had to start trolling senior citizen’s centers and nursing homes for women.

“This is California. We have many beautiful, experienced subs your age,” he went on to say. “Or, if you’re looking for young and innocent, we could set you up in the nursery and let you play daddy dom, or in your case, granddaddy.”

Used to taking a good deal of ribbing from his longtime friend, he usually took his jibes in stride, but his return was quick and biting. “Go fuck yourself, Dupree.” With things as they were with Cassie, the taunt hit close to home. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re two years older than I am, you bastard.”

“Yes, but I’m young at heart, and down scowl constantly, causing unsightly frown lines.”

“You’re a laugh riot. Remind me why I count you as a friend?”

He chuckled softly in response.Ever since Eric had collared his submissive, and not long after, put an engagement ring on her finger, he’d been euphoricon a level approaching nauseating. Apparently, he’d decided what worked for him would work for his single friends and turned into a matchmaker.

It seemed only natural in his role as master dom to bring members together. The club’s mission—and the reason for its success—was to offer a safe place for its members to meet others in the lifestyle, learn and explore, as well as provide a first-class, well-equipped dungeon for play.Just like in a vanilla club, members hooked up, some became exclusive, and often, after an evening together, they decided they hadn’t found what they were looking for and went their separate ways. There were breakups, heartbreaks, love triangles, and love affairs. Some doms and subs—the lucky ones like Eric and Val—found the perfect partner for life.

And with Eric brimming with contentment, he’d set his sights on Flynn as the next to fall.After waxing poetic on the benefits ofa fulfilling committed relationship, not to mentionhaving an exclusive submissive at the ready, his old friend got personal.

“We traveled the world for nearly two decades, have seen and done things no man ever should, not to mention enduring crap conditions and sleeping in some of the worst shitholes known to man. With that behind us, don’t you think we deserve a few rewards? Now that you’ve got a cushy, full-time position at Coronado, why wait?”

Except for the cushy comment, Eric was right. In the past twenty years, Flynn had spent more time abroad than on US soil. He’d never gotten involved long-term with a woman because he didn’t think it was fair to leave her waiting and wondering. Since transferring to BUD/s as a training officer, he had settled in and could afford to become exclusive if he wanted to.

And he did, but only with the right submissive woman.

A pair of blue eyes, soft lips, and a guileless expression popped into his head.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get the little blonde systems analyst out of his thoughts. She filled his dreams every night and starred in all his waking fantasies, like the one this morning.

Cassie was on her knees in front of him, just like the other day, except this time she was naked, hands bound behind her back. He glided the head of his cock across her plump, tempting lips, and couldn’t hold back a groan when he slid deep into her tempting mouth. With his skin slick from her agile tongue, his fingers tangled in the wet strands of her long hair, urging her to go faster, to suck harder, as he pumped into her. Flynn came while calling her name.

But when he opened his eyes, the disappointment was like a gut punch. Instead of Cassie’s hot mouth bringing him off, it was his own hand in the shower.

With his brain flooded with provocative images, he couldn't ignore the growing tightness of his jeans as his cock strained against the constricting fabric. He shifted on his barstool, trying to think of a distraction. Surf training, lying in wet sand, the frigid water of the Pacific washing over him, soggy NWUs, gritty sand—everywhere—a candidate whining about the cold and getting on his last fucking nerve. Hellfire! Even after that, he was still hard.

Flynn spun on the stool to face the room, needing a distraction. Knowing that he wasn’t fit for just any sub, he searched for one who could handle him in his current mood. He liked it rough and raw, but tonight, he wanted ruthless. That wasn’t his style, however. He didn’t lean toward sadism. Spanking, yes. A medium weight flogger—heck, yeah. A crop, clamps, and plugs—definitely. More than that, no.

Maybe he should leave. But as he tossed back the scotch the bartender refilled for him, his second, that wasn’t happening anytime soon. He’d have to wait before making the two-hour trek home, and, if he wanted to play, make this his last. While enjoying the warmth curling in his gut from the superior 18-year-old scotch, he looked over the crowd.

On one of the nearby couches, a petite sub perched on the leather-clad knee of her dom. She was blonde, with a high ponytail—like the woman he was trying to forget—and a pretty pout on her pink lips. Her master had his lips to her ear. From his frown and the hand wrapped around her nape, he was unhappy about something. While he spoke—likely giving a lecture, or a warning—his other hand curled around her hip, slipped beneath the hem of her white leather skirt, and cupped a bare cheek.

His assessment of their interplay—someone was naughty.

At once, the image of another little imp popped into his head. Something was up with Cassie, and he didn’t like it. She’d been avoiding him, as good as snubbing him at the coffee shop the other night. He’d racked his brain trying to figure out why, if it was something he’d said or done. All he could come up with was Meyers’ insensitive remark, which was the last time he’d spoken to her. After he’d educated the dumbass on how to act around a lady, he’d gone to find her. But she’d left the lab, which only proved how upset she’d been.

That didn’t explain why she wouldn’t answer his calls and had canceled their lunch together, something that hadn’t happened in the entire six months she’d been working there. She got busy real quick the two times he’d popped in to speak to her. With others around, and her occupied—with what looked like busy work, and stall tactics—he’d waited several minutes then left in frustration. It was that or be late for his next meeting. But Flynn didn’t like things unsettled between them.

For her to cut him out so abruptly, without explanation, ticked him off. If she belonged to him, he’d haul her over his knee for a sound paddling until she did two things: apologized and communicated what was going on in her beautiful head.

And, while he had her there, he’d make her pay for tempting him all these months. He imagined her reaction if he called her into his office and did just that. Her eyes would get wide, her lips parting in shock. But being the good girl that she was, she’d obey him. He’d pull down the snug-fitting trousers she often wore and bend her over his lap, enjoying the view as her panties stretched tight across her round bottom—something feminine, white, and with lace.

As he pulled her in close, encircling her waist with an arm to hold her in place, he’d smile as she trembled, her upturned bottom quivering in anticipation. He’d stroke it lightly before tugging up the delicate material, wedging it between her cheeks and baring the fullness of her ass for his hand. The image of those luscious globes jiggling with each sharp, quick smack made his already rigid cocktwitch in his pants.

Fuck! He couldn’t escape her even 120 miles north in LA. And despite his many lurid fantasies, the harsh truth was she didn’t belong to him. And couldn’t.

“You look like you’re in a foul mood.” Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed when Eric took the empty seat beside him. His friend eyed his empty glass. “Have another drink,” he suggested, as he signaled the bartender over.

Flynn waved him off. “This was my second. Any more and I’ve wasted a trip.”

“If this is what you’re like after top-shelf scotch, I’ll tell Samson not to waste the good stuff on you. The Macallan 25 goes for a grand.”

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