Whipped
By Sabrina York
Dane Coulter is mourning the loss of his best friend, fellow
Special Ops buddy, Cody. Oh, Cody didn’t die. It’s worse. He’s getting married.
Cody is, in Dane’s opinion, whipped.
Dane swears he will never suffer the same fate. But when he
meets a woman who can take all his dominant loving and beg for more, he
realizes he may have met his match. It’s a damn shame she’s the one woman in
the world his man-code deems untouchable…his best friend’s sister.
Read an Excerpt
He was bigger than he’d been in high school. Bigger, taller
and just…more. His muscles, lacquered by a tight black tee shirt, bulged.
Tattoos danced over his biceps. The planes of his face were angled. High
cheekbones, dark brows, long blade of a nose all the same, but sharper. His
eyes hadn’t had those shadows back then either, that predatory glint. His
hair—his thick mop of curls—was gone, shaved off, revealing the perfect shape
of his head. His chin, however, wasn’t shaved. It was covered by a smattering
of dark fuzz. A scar on his cheek, rather than detracting from his looks, made
him even more fascinating, dangerous.
And he smelled…delicious. As he moved, his cologne, a clean enticing
scent, enveloped her in a cloud.
Oh, he was dangerous all right.
She didn’t care.
The slight buzz from the margaritas at the bachelorette
party, the sexual sizzle ignited by the strippers who’d burst in on their party
wearing camo fatigues with rip-away crotches, all contributed to her bravado.
In real life she would never hook arms with some random guy
and sashay by his side to his room. But hell. This was Dane. The man of her
fantasies. And, judging from the hunger in his expression as he looked down at
her, the heat that passed between them where they touched, he wanted her.
Thank God she wasn’t still the dorky teen with braces she’d
been when they’d last met.
She looked amazing tonight. He happened to wander by and
notice her. No one else was around. And he wanted her.
It was as though, somehow, magically, all the stars had
aligned.
There was no way—no way—she would miss this opportunity.
Excitement danced low in her gut as he swiped his room key
and led her into his suite. It was a nice suite—not as sumptuous as Angie’s,
but nice all the same—with a small sitting area and an enormous king bed. The
windows looked out on the sparkling lights of the City that Never Slept. Or one
of them.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, taking off his watch and
dropping it on the table by the door. It drew her attention to his forearms,
thick and muscled and sprinkled with dark hairs. They were roped with thick
veins. She’d always had a thing for bulky forearms. And she’d always had a
thing for Dane. The combination was irresistible.
She tipped her head to the side and blew a bubble with her
gum. “Margarita?”
He waved at the glossy wood armoire against the wall. “I
have a mini bar. It’ll have to be shots. What’s your poison?”
“Tequila then.” Might as well keep a good thing going.
He hunkered down and searched through the fridge, pulling
out a tiny bottle of tequila for her and whiskey for him. He cracked them open
and dumped them unceremoniously into two glasses and handed her hers. No ice or
anything.
Good thing it didn’t matter to her, or she’d be pissed at
his cavalier attitude. The drink was lubricant, a time filler. They were
dancing around a seduction, and they both knew it.
Or…not.
Apparently seduction was not necessary. Because Dane took a
swig of his drink and said, with no preface whatsoever, “So do you have any
no-nos?”
She gaped at him. “No-nos?”
“Anything you won’t do? Because I’ll be frank. I like a
little kink.”
Holy God.
First of all, the heat scorching her was mind-numbing.
Literally. Mind. Numbing. Those brash words from Dane’s gorgeous lips and she
nearly lost her balance.
Second of all—he liked kink.
So, in fact, did she. Nothing super dark, but a little slap
and tickle for sure.
“Um…” She took a sip of her drink. She shuddered as the
harsh bite of liquor burned through her. It clashed with the flavor of her gum.
“What kind of kink are we talking about?”
He strode to his suitcase and fished around, pulling out a
long leather strap with two loops on the ends. Her eyes fixated on it. She
shuddered.
“I want to tie you up,” he said, his voice low, taunting, as
though he expected her to squeak like a mouse and scuttle from the room.
The. Fuck.
“Hmm. I think I can handle that.”
“I’ll probably smack your bottom.”
Also good. She tried not to flinch in anticipation. His hand
on her ass? Gawd.
“I won’t hurt you, though. I’m not into that. And of course,
I’ll use protection.” He held up a pack of condoms.
Well da-ham. He’d come prepared. A smile curled on her lips.
“Billy said your fee’s been paid.” His brow quirked.
The smile froze on Tina’s face. A combination of horror and
rage and something else altogether snarled through her, as she realized how
right she’d been. Not only did he not recognize her—after knowing her her
entire life, for pity sake—he thought she was a hooker.
Granted, she did kind of look like a hooker, with makeup
plastered on as if with a trowel. But still…
She glanced at him from beneath the impossibly long lashes The
Master had glued to her lids. Not her style, but she liked the way they looked.
The way they made her feel…like someone else. Someone sultry and daring.
Someone Dane would want.
To tie up and spank.
Aside from that, the temptation to have him, taste him, fuck
him, ran rampant in her. For years she’d fantasized about her older brother’s
best friend. All through puberty and long after that. Every man she’d met,
dated or been with had been gauged against Dane Coulter. None of them had
measured up.
Ah yes, the temptation to have him was overwhelming.
Not to mention how much fun it would be watching him shit a
brick tomorrow, when he realized who she really was.
Too delicious to pass up, really. The whole package.
He stood there in the middle of the room, holding the strap
in one hand and the condoms in the other, waiting for her reply. Though he was
all Dom, she couldn’t help but notice a hint of tension in him, as though he
was, on some level, afraid she’d say no and waltz away.
He wanted her. And he wanted her bad. It was the heat in his
eyes that gave him away, the way they flicked over her and burned with hunger.
Yeah. Irresistible.
Sure. She could be a hooker for the evening.
About
Sabrina York
Her Royal Hotness, Sabrina York, is
the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of hot, humorous stories
for smart and sexy readers. Her
titles range
from sweet & sexy to scorching romance.
Visit her webpage at
www.sabrinayork.com
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