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  Angel in Leather

  Gwen Campbell

  A book in the 1-800-DOM-help series

  Brenna’s a Domme. No apologies. Confident. All attitude. The scent and sound of leather have always turned her on, almost as much as hearing hard-bodied men beg her for it. But a deft hand with a paddle doesn’t make up for lonely nights. She’s looking for a lover, a man who’ll laugh at the comics with her when he’s not moaning with pleasure.

  Rick’s a surgeon without a god complex. Pain’s always made him hard, and being spanked balances a psyche that makes daily life-and-death decisions for other people. His best friend Malcolm suffers the same needs, and when they spot Brenna at a prestigious BDSM club, they’re determined to make the seductive Domme their exclusive mistress.

  Inside Scoop: The Domme in our story, upon occasion, enjoys sharing more than tips with other girls at the club and, though our three lovers share themselves and their pleasure, only one man is going to take Brenna’s heart home in the end.

  A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Angel in Leather

  Gwen Campbell

  Dedication

  To Mickey, with love. We were in pain when we rescued her. She rescued us right back.

  The Magic

  The magic begins with the appearance of the business card. Sleek black print on a pristine white background—unassuming in its appearance. Those brave enough to call the number will begin a journey that will explore their greatest desires.

  Once the call is made, the Operator goes to work. Somehow he knows just what every caller needs, always able to find the answer the caller seeks.

  Callers may be directed to Unfettered, a new club in town, one nobody has ever heard of. It provides a safe haven for all who enter. Members are free to explore their every desire…even those they weren’t aware of. Little do they know Unfettered will disappear once those yearnings have eased.

  Submissives who don’t know how to handle their Dominants. Masters looking for the perfect sub. People who need just a little push to admit vanilla isn’t their favorite flavor. The card finds them all.

  And once you dial 1-800-DOM-help, anything can happen.

  Chapter One

  The cuffs bit into Rick’s wrists, making his bones ache. The pain spread, built on itself and warmed him from the inside out.

  It was perverse and erotic but the strain in his shoulders as his arms were stretched high over his head made him feel wholly sexual. There was only the pain and the endorphins that let his body experience the sensations as pleasure. Breathing fast ramped up his perception of sexual arousal.

  Hard music drove through the club and the darkened space was lit up where hot spotlights captured subs in bondage devices.

  But something was missing and he couldn’t quite lose his head in the decadence of the scene. A few feet away from him his friend, Malcolm, was trussed up like a perverted birthday gift, his bare ass in the air and begging for more as a Domme worked him over with a rubber-studded dildo. Tonight, Rick just couldn’t let go like that.

  Rick wanted the experience, had always relished scening, had always prided himself on the courage and strength he found inside himself as his body processed the pain his psyche craved as exquisite, delicious pleasure. But something about tonight—this place, the vibe—took his head out of the place he wanted to be.

  Ignoring that, perhaps stupidly, he concentrated on the individual sensations crowding his mind. He focused on his wrists, then his shoulders, compartmentalizing the feelings so they couldn’t multiply into an overwhelming front. Sure, there was a small abrasion at the base of his scrotum but that was part of the high, wasn’t it? Part of the kink and decadence.

  The Domme was a deliciously wicked woman—that’s what had attracted them to her—and the pull of the cuffs stretched Rick up straight and tall. That and the evil pole she’d tied between his legs. He couldn’t stand on his toes forever and he had to put his feet flat on the floor. That shoved the rough end of the long pole into his perineum. It was an endless cycle of torment that made him sweat and moan. It should have been an incredibly hot scene. It wasn’t. Blinking, Rick tried to focus on the latex-clad Domme. Her generous breasts spilled over the bodice of her dress and her face was artfully made up. As she worked Malcolm over there was a hunger in her eyes that made Rick uncomfortable.

  He moaned as the stick wedged itself between his legs. Sweat tickled his inner thigh, right where his skin was rubbed raw, so he forced his aching arches to flex, lifting him back onto his toes.

  The sound he’d made hadn’t been a sexual one. It was pain, unguarded and let loose of its own accord.

  Malcolm moaned again and grinned like a demented fool, only his reactions were obviously ones of pleasure. They’d known this Domme a few months now. They’d never scened this intensely though and Rick’s unease rose. Trust was vital and, for him, it grew because a Domme was monitoring his reactions, working with him so both their needs were met.

  He grabbed the chains above the handcuffs, tried to hoist his body away from the torment, and failed.

  Cream, he screamed inside his head then clamped his teeth together so the sound wouldn’t escape. He’d never used his safeword before, had never felt out of control or overwhelmed enough to be tempted. But he’d already passed the temptation stage and the need to get out of this suspension was becoming an imperative. It was impossible to lose himself in the ambient sounds and atmosphere of the BDSM club. Driving bass lines boomed out of wall speakers and made the floor throb. Around him, people groaned, yelled their pleasure, chatted about the price of gas. Sweat trailed between his pecs and made him itch until he wanted to scream…and not in a good way.

  The Domme turned away from Malcolm, Rick too for that matter, picked up a towel and began wiping Malcolm’s sweat off her dress as if a dry cleaning bill would break her heart. Rick saw Malcolm jerk against his bindings. Ever the pain slut, Malcolm was probably trying to increase the hurt instead of testing the tightness. They were tight all right, tight enough to rub a patch of skin off Malcolm’s leg. Rick watched the blood swell out then soak into the rough, cheap, ill-considered rope the club had stocked.

  “Lay off, Malcolm,” he said. “You’ve got a laceration below your left knee.”

  “Huh?” Malcolm mumbled. His eyes were glassy, as if he was entering sub-space.

  “Shit. Alison, Malcolm needs some direct pressure on that.” He saw her head dip as if she’d heard him but her stance became determined, as if she was ignoring him.

  “Alison,” he repeated, louder this time. “Malcolm’s cut—”

  “You will address me as mistress,” she barked then shot him a cold look.

  Rick appreciated a show of dominance far more than the average guy, but now was so not the time. The cut wasn’t too bad, for now, but common sense, not to mention the house rules, demanded the end to any scene that drew blood and for first aid to be administered immediately.

  When she picked up a flogger—the flogger she’d already used on Malcolm’s back—and closed in on Rick, he’d had enough.

  “Cream.” He enunciated the word deliberately. It only slowed Alison down.

  “I will tell you when—”

  “Cream,” Rick repeated. “Cream.” This time he said it loud enough heads turned. The bartender and another staff member headed their way.

  “Oh. Of course.” Alison blinked and, for a second, looked dazed. Maybe she’d gone too deep into her role playing. Latex and whips aside, she really was a nice lady. She reached for a stepladder so she could undo his cuffs.

  “Not me. Him.” Rick made an effort to smile. His disappointment made him angry but it seemed prudent, maybe even polite, not to go off on her. He was pissed—at h
er for neglecting her sub but mostly at himself for his lack of will or concentration or whatever it was that had sucked the fun out of the evening. When his hands were free he ripped off the duct tape holding the pole between his legs, grabbed the nearest first-aid kit and snapped on the latex gloves with practiced ease.

  “Nice road rash, buddy,” he said as he took hold of Malcolm’s leg. “Scraped yourself off a couple layers of dermis. This might sting,” he said as he pressed a wad of gauze to the abrasion.

  “Fuuck,” Malcolm hissed, breathing disappointment and frustration, then stared up at Alison with blank adoration.

  * * * * *

  “How can a guy as cute as you stink so much?”

  Rick tried to look affronted. “Everything I am,” he pronounced, and ran a hand through his short, dark, sweaty hair, “is due to grueling morning workouts.” He caught the towel Janice tossed him then laughed when she made a show of waving her hand in front of her face. She might be pushing fifty but she could make him laugh like a schoolkid any time she chose. “Yeah, well, some Right Guard couldn’t hurt,” she groused and moved so the reception counter was between them. The way the corner of her mouth quirked up gave away how much fun she was having busting his chops. “Your first patient will be here in fifteen minutes.”

  “I recognize that smell.”

  “Another country heard from.” He grinned as he made his way past the exam rooms and down to the small bathroom at the back of their office suite. “And a good morning to you too, Hanna.”

  As usual, Dr. Hanna West was pressed and polished in anticipation of a full day of patients. When he popped his head into her office she shook her head, crossed her shapely legs and looked up from her desk. The eldest of the four partners in the practice, she was the one Rick felt the most comfortable with.

  “I swear we’re going to start billing you for air freshener. What, that fancy gym of yours doesn’t have shower facilities?”

  “Yes but my racquetball buddy’s car is in the shop today. I only had time to drive him to work then grab a shower here.”

  “Huh. Janice?” she called out.

  “Yeah, boss.”

  Funny, Janice was their nurse, all four of theirs, but Hanna was the only one she called boss.

  “Remind our handsome young Dr. Finley he probably now needs to have his car interior detailed.”

  “Right-o, boss.”

  “Is Thursday the new gang up on Rick day? Guess I missed the memo.”

  The corner of Hanna’s mouth twitched as if she was trying not to smile. “You’ll be funnier after you shower. And next time you show up stinking, bring coffee. It’s the least you can do.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Rick saluted smartly and trotted the rest of the way down the hall.

  As he lathered then rinsed, he thought about Hanna…about how much he liked her. Too bad she was married. She was funny, talented and didn’t take shit from anybody. The other partners were more conservative, maybe even a bit uptight, although they were all very good at their specialties. As he toweled off and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before making a dash for his office and the clean clothes he kept there, he wished again he could meet somebody with a personality like Hanna’s.

  A strong woman like that would make his life complete.

  * * * * *

  “I don’t need to be here.”

  Early that afternoon, Rick was walking toward Exam Room Two when he overheard the couple inside talking.

  “It’s just a second opinion, Ted. You don’t have to be back to work this afternoon so why don’t we use the time to decide on something fun to do the rest of the day.”

  That was probably…Rick checked the name on the file hanging beside the door…Mrs. Blair speaking.

  “I don’t feel that bad.”

  Rick heard a body moving around and a shoe scuff against the floor as if somebody was picking it up to put it back on.

  “Get back up there and sit, Ted Blair.”

  The tone of Mrs. Blair’s voice made even Rick stand up straight.

  “This surgeon’s going to take a look at you. We’re going to find out what’s wrong and we’re going to get it fixed.”

  “But I—”

  “You do not get to argue with me about this.”

  Damn. The power and control in that woman’s voice made Rick’s cock twitch. Why hadn’t he been able to find a woman like that for himself? Maybe he’d attract one if he ignored his health. He cleared his throat before he knocked and entered.

  “Hi. I’m Dr. Finley.” Rick used his best, confident, professional voice. “Dr. West wanted me to take a look at you before you left.” He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and had Ted Blair lay back on the exam table.

  * * * * *

  “I’m going to call Sunnybrook and schedule you for surgery tomorrow, Saturday at the latest.”

  Ted had that glazed, gray look patients got when they heard the big C diagnosis. Then his mouth got tight and he started shaking his head.

  He stopped when Mrs. Blair grabbed his hand and squeezed. She didn’t bother wasting time asking Rick if he was sure. “I want him going to the best hospital in the area for this. What about the Princess Margaret?”

  “That’s the best cancer hospital, yes, but the general surgery department at Sunnybrook is better. I’ve got privileges at both.” He put his hand on her shoulder. She was shaking, just a little, but her gaze was firm and determined. Ted Blair’s survival chances had just increased. He had someone who loved him enough to step up and take charge. “The two of you can wait in my office. Janice will tell you as soon as we’ve arranged admission.”

  A little while later, after he’d fit in two more patients, he overheard Janice talking to the Blairs in his office.

  “Be there tomorrow morning by seven,” Janice was saying. “Here’s a list of pre-op instructions.”

  Rick stepped in to see if the Blairs had any questions. Who was he kidding? They’d be so shell-shocked Janice would next ask if there was somebody who could drive them home. That’s why she gave patients the information they’d need in writing. There was no way they’d remember anything but the diagnosis Rick had given them. Standing in the doorway, he looked the Blairs over. Ted Blair’s wedding band, in particular, had been on his finger so long it looked as if the flesh had grown up around it. The man had just been given the worst news of his life and Rick envied him. He was jealous of the strong woman beside him, the way she squeezed her husband’s knee, asked the right questions, wrote things down…even though her hand was shaking.

  They stood up to leave.

  “She says you’re good. Very good,” Mrs. Blair said in a firm, almost demanding voice.

  “I am.” The surety in Rick’s voice was learned. Nobody wanted to be cut by a nervous surgeon. The surety was also earned truth.

  “This man is everything to me. Don’t screw up.”

  “No ma’am. I won’t.”

  Damn. Too bad it was completely unethical to ask if she had a younger sister.

  * * * * *

  “Mass was removed from patient’s stomach. Invasion was substantial, requiring the removal of two-fifths of the organ. Biopsy came back…” Rick turned over the next piece of paper in the file, reread the lab results out of habit then switched his digital recorder back on. “Positive. Patient experienced no postoperative complications and was discharged March eight. Patient was referred to Princess Margaret Hospital for chemotherapy. Recommend follow-up office visit two weeks post-discharge and again one month after that.”

  He switched off the recorder and scribbled a note on the pad near his elbow. Even his own mother couldn’t read his writing so it was a damn good thing their nurse, Janice, could. She’d pick up his notes in the morning, call the patients that needed calling and email his recordings to the transcription service they used before his first surgery was finished tomorrow morning.

  Tomorrow morning. Squeezing his eyes shut, Rick leaned back heavily in his leather chair, stretched ou
t his legs then scrubbed his palm over his face. It seemed the only thing he had to look forward to when he got out of bed was work, work and more work.

  It was late, he was still working but it didn’t matter. Nobody was waiting for him. Looking out through the thin, metal window blinds, he saw the glow from the street lights four stories below and the only face looking back at him was the moon.

  He knew he shouldn’t complain. He’d wanted this life since he was a kid. Oh sure, there’d been a seven-year-old’s fantasy of being a fireman but he hadn’t wavered since then. Not through four years of university, four of medical school then five of residency. And it was worth it. He looked down at the open file in front of him. Ted Blair had only come into his office because Mrs. Blair had bitch-slapped him into it. The guy was fifty pounds overweight but Rick still had no trouble palpating the mass in his abdomen. Blair had been reluctant about any kind of surgery. Reluctant? Hell the guy had practically wigged out. Rick had talked him into it because it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

  It was a fine balancing act, choosing between a patient’s postop quality of life and giving them a chance at that life. Just in his forties, Ted Blair was now facing a future with almost half his stomach gone. Rick wallowed in doubt for a moment. Had he taken too much? Not enough? He stopped those thoughts and closed Ted’s file. Like he always did, Rick had made the best decision he was capable of then lived with the self-recrimination after. Who was he to play god with people’s guts? What made him so special?

  Exhaling slowly, Rick knew the answers to those questions already. He was a well-trained and talented surgeon. The only thing he lacked was an inflated ego. Too bad. That would make handling the aftermath of his decision-making easier.

  Before he turned Ted Blair’s file over, he looked out the window again. There was something else he was lacking…a woman in his life. Someone confident enough to give him a shake when his doubts weighed him down. Someone waiting at home for him. Someone with a pair of legs that went all the way up and who knew how to wield a flogger and make his ass sting until his dick was hard enough to hammer nails.