Ryder
Martin Peterson is a hard man to follow.
I should know: I’ve been doing it for months now.
Still, when I lose sight of him for a few minutes, I can’t help but worry if this is going to be the time when he sneaks by me. I can’t help but worry if this is going to be the time he gets away.
Raising my binoculars, I finally spot him once more, and I breathe an audible sigh of relief.
“Get it together, Ryder,” I shake my head. I shouldn’t be this uncomfortable, this nervous today. After all, I’ve been shadowing Martin Peterson and his gang of grungy guys for months now, and oh, I’m getting tired.
It’s not just that this operation is taking forever. It’s not just that I’ve been stuck in town for months when I could be home in Nellenston working in my air-conditioned office. It’s not any of that.
It’s that Martin Peterson has been doing his damndest to avoid me, but I’m not going to let him. These past few weeks, I’ve buckled down, and I can tell that I’m getting close: closer than I’ve ever been before.
This isn’t my first time undercover.
This isn’t even my first time out of my home city.
This is, however, the first time that I’ve met someone who made my heart go crazy.
This is the first time I’ve met someone who makes me feel like I can fly.
I glare at the building as he enters it. I know exactly what he’s doing there and why, but I can’t do a damn thing about it without a warrant, and that’s much easier said than done. The movies make it all look so simple and easy, but being undercover just complicates things even further.
With a sigh, I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes.
June.
All I think of is June.
She’s so fantastic, so interesting and bright. June makes my heart light up and when I’m chatting with her, nothing else matters. The entire world just fades to grey and she’s standing there in front of me in a burst of beautiful colors.
June is the only reason I haven’t given up on the op. I know that the minute this operation ends, the minute Martin Peterson is arrested, I’m going to be back in Nellenston. I’ll be back at my old job, at my old life, and my old house.
I won’t be around June anymore, and right now, I don’t know if that’s something I’m ready for.
***
“What’s your job, anyway?” June asks, sliding my drink across the bar to me. “Somehow, you always manage to avoid that question. I realized this last night,” she shakes her head, like she should have pushed me earlier, but she’s right.
I’ve been trying to avoid that question for as long as possible because I hate lying to June. I despise it. I would much rather avoid specific questions than create some sort of fabrication, but it seems as if my games have come to an end. It’s time to start talking.
“I’m a writer,” I lie smoothly, but it doesn’t sit right with me this time. Usually, lying isn’t a problem. Usually, it’s easy. With her, it’s not.
With her, I want more.
I want June to see the real me, to get to know the man I really am. Being an FBI agent has its perks and I’ve always loved undercover ops, but I’ve never cared for someone the way I care for June.
And I hate that she’s getting to know this fake version of me.
I want her to know the real me. I crave that. I want her to know the real Ryder: the one who doesn’t sleep well at night, the one who is sometimes afraid. I want her to know that man. I want her to know the man I truly am.
Will she be able to do that if I keep up this charade?
Probably not.
Definitely not.
“Oh?” She leans forward, and it takes every ounce of strength to keep focused on her eyes. Her breasts are so close to me. If I just reached out, I could touch her, stroking her collarbone down to those two beautiful, gorgeous breasts. Her pale skin practically glows in the dark space. In another life, June would be a vampire goddess.
“Oh,” I agree quietly.
She cocks her head and looks at me with a question in her eyes.
“What do you write?” Her words are quiet. I can barely hear her over the music in the club, but the night is winding down and people are slowly trickling out, so we’re practically alone. Much too soon, the music will be turned off and the lights turned back on, and then the night will be over.
Soon it’ll be time to go home and I’ll return to the quiet studio apartment I’ve been holed up in.
“Romance novels,” I tell her, and I’m not really sure why I said that. Officially, my cover is that I write mystery novels. If people look me up online, they’ll even find a website and a book for sale with a second available for pre-order. Anyone searching the name Ryder Hawke will find that I’m a quiet, law-abiding citizen and a little bit of a recluse.
Those who dig a little deeper will find that I have a penchant for BDSM, which is why it wasn’t strange I managed to score an invitation – and a membership – to Anchored. It would have been stranger if I hadn’t been accepted. Still, my reasons for joining are incredibly selfish. I didn’t join to secure my cover or to fit in better. I joined because I need to feel a submissive melt beneath my palms. I crave that.
Only now that I’m here, something has changed.
I’m not just craving any submissive.
I want her.
Only her.
Only June.
“Romance, huh?” She looks away wistfully for a second, and then turns back to me. “Hardcore domination romances, I bet.”
“Lucky guess.”
“Is that right?” Her eyebrows both raise. “So that’s actually what you do? You’re a BDSM writer?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Sadly, no, but I have some wonderful ideas for stories.”
“Tell me,” she says, surprising me, and when I look at June, I notice how her lips are slightly open as she waits to see how I’ll react.
She wants to know what I’m going to say.
She wants to know if I’ll give her what she wants.
The thing about being a Dom is that sometimes, we do give our submissives what they want. Sometimes we give them everything that they want and things they didn’t even know that they wanted. Sometimes we give them little bits of ourselves and sometimes we give them just a little bit more.
But sometimes we don’t.
Sometimes we hold back, instead giving them what they need. Sometimes, instead of offering what the submissive has requested, a good Dom gives what the submissive is too afraid to ask for.
Sometimes she might not even know she needs it.
When I look at June, I see a strong, brave woman. I see a beautiful woman. I see a princess who has had to be strong for far too long, guarding her whole castle while the prince is away, but that day is over for June.
She doesn’t have to be strong on her own anymore. She doesn’t have to be brave. She doesn’t have to guard the castle towers because her prince has come.
Me.
It’s going to be me.
I shouldn’t be propositioning her. I shouldn’t be flirting with her, teasing her. I’m here for a specific reason, and it’s not to get close to June. It’s not to fall in love with her, yet somehow, over the past few months, everything has fallen into place for June and I. Somehow, when I see my future, it’s always with one arm firmly wrapped her shoulders.
“Tell you what?” I ask her gently, smoothly. I reach out and touch her palm with my own. She glances at our hands and then looks back up at me. She doesn’t pull away from my touch. In fact, it seems to relax her a little.
“Tell me your stories, Ryder Hawke,” her voice is breathless and deep, and I turn my hand so our palms are touching. I squeeze, holding her hand tightly. June doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t pull away. She looks eager, excited.
She looks nervous as fucking hell.
June is a lot of things, but I’ve never, ever seen her nervous. I’ve never seen her scared or afraid. I’ve never seen her feeling anything but complete self-assuredness, and now her breathing quickens.
“All right,” I say slowly, looking at June. With my other hand, I begin to trace lines on her forearms. She doesn’t pull away. Again, she glances down, and then her eyes lock with mine, and I realize that this is the moment.
This is when everything changes.
This is when I pull away and we go back to being friendly acquaintances. This is when I realize reaching for June is a bad idea. It’s the moment when I decide that I shouldn’t kiss her, shouldn’t pull her into my arms, shouldn’t promise to worship her body.
Only this is not that moment.
I don’t want to live my life wishing I’d been brave.
Everything is going to change tonight. That’s for sure, but I’m not leaving until I get the girl.
June is the woman of my fucking dreams, and I don’t plan on letting her go. Not tonight. Not ever.
I lean forward, and I claim her mouth with my own.
This is no gentle kiss: no timid peck.
No, when I kiss June, I kiss her with everything I’ve fucking got because I might not get another chance.