Page 1 of Required Surrender

PROLOGUE

Lachlan

“Well, our boy almost got himself kicked out of college just days before graduation.” Grant clapped me on the back, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery.

“No kidding?” Jameson teased. “For violence or sex?”

“Sex. He was found with the dean’s daughter in a very uncompromising position. I believe she was naked and tied to his headboard.”

I glared at Grant and slid onto the seat, unable to keep from smiling. “She had no issues being tied and flogged. She was the best submissive I’ve ever had.”

“You’re a hound dog. How did you avoid expulsion?” Jameson asked, lifting his eyebrows.

Shrugging, I sat back in my chair, envisioning the way Darcy had looked chained to my bed, her pussy glistening after I’d brought her to her third climax. “Pops knows everyone even in this country.”

“And the powerful and influential Scots rule the world again.” The disdain in Jameson’s voice was understandable given his parents were close to being broke. But he had no idea how ruthless my father could be, or what was expected of the man’s only son.

“Here’s to more sex,” I said with absolute conviction in my voice as I lifted my glass of booze.

“Coming from the man who has sex five nights a week. Kinky sex too. Don’t you handcuff every girl to your bed, stuffing her mouth with a ball gag?” Grant asked, the expression on his face deadpan serious.

“Nah,” I mused, acting as if I didn’t have a care in the world when my father had already started hassling me about returning home. That wasn’t going to happen. “Pretty little mouths are meant to be fucked. But if she’s a screamer, I shove her panties past her pert lips.”

Jameson groaned. “You’re a sick man.”

“It’s called sadism,” Grant snorted. “At least our playboy knows what’s important in life.”

“You guys are twisted fucks. My life is different. Here’s to no more late nights,” Jameson said as he lifted his bottle of Budweiser.

“So, you’re giving up sex?” Grant teased. “I thought you and that bottled blonde were getting it on pretty heavy a couple nights ago. She certainly has a nice pair of… lungs on her.” He glanced in my direction, winking.

“Grant’s right. I thought I saw her going down on you in the truck the other day. You had your hand tangled in her hair, her head bobbing up and down. Or was that some other honey you picked up off the side of the road?”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you,” Jameson snarled, puffing up his chest as if we’d really insulted him. He twirled his bottle on the table then gave us a sly grin. “I’ll have you know I might continue seeing Jenny after leaving this shithole. And you’re right. She has one hot, wet mouth.”

While we all laughed, I shook my head. The shithole he was referring to was the University of Pennsylvania, tuition closing in on seventy thousand a year. Ivy League all the way.

A requirement my father had insisted on.

The three of us had been buddies since freshman year. Considering Jameson Stark was the epitome of an all-American superstar, Grant Wilde a studious nerd, and I was fresh off the boat from Scotland, we were a motley mix at best. We’d weathered good and bad times, pulling enough pranks we’d landed our asses in jail on two occasions. Through my tutelage, we’d ruled the campus, acting as if we owned the place. Our arrests had only added to our notorious status. Thank God Grant’s father knew everybody powerful and influential in the entire country or we would have graduated from a community college if we’d gotten lucky.

While Grant and I came from money, Jameson was the lucky one. He had a family who loved him. Grant and I had been tossed into boarding school at age six, so we had that in common.

Which was nothing to brag about.

Still, Jameson’s father had cancer, something my buddy didn’t talk about much. He had no choice but to help out his dad when he graduated.

“I didn’t think you were that eager to leave given you’re the local hero,” Grant chided.

“Yeah. Yeah. That was months ago,” Jameson huffed, although every time he was reminded that he’d rushed sixty-two yards for a touchdown in the final seconds of the most important football game of the year, he beamed like a kid. Thank God for football scholarships or even with financial aid, his parents could never have afforded to send him away to college.

Grant rolled his eyes. “Hey. Do you have a fancy job doing architecture yet?”

It wasn’t the first time Jameson’s face fell since graduation. “Nah. I’m gonna earn some cred points working for my dad’s commercial construction firm for a couple years.”

“Shit. You wanted to design gorgeous buildings,” I told him. That’s all he’d talked about.

“Yeah, I know. I will one day. What about you? Heading back to Scotland?”

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