The radio and A/C went silent when Cassie twisted the key on her eighteen-year-old, sapphire blue, Mazda Mx-5. Sadly, the engine did not, continuing to knock and ping for several more seconds after it was off, as it had for weeks.

Her roadster convertible was old, but she kept the body and interior in pristine condition, and since the top still worked like a charm and came down with the simple push of a button, it made driving along the coastline in Southern California extra fun. Besides being awesome, it had sentimental value for her considering it was the first purchase she’d made by herself after college. No co-signer, only her name on the dotted line just like a grown up.

She loved it on sight. Her dad, not so much. Jacob Hardwick had taken one look at the tiny two-seater and about had a stroke. A perennial purveyor of doom and gloom when it came to his daughter and what he called her flagrant disregard for her safety, he predicted her end culminating in a late-night call from a hospital ER when she wrapped the impractical, insubstantial, pathetic excuse for a vehicle around a tree.

Those were his words verbatim. She’d heard them often enough they’d become etched into her brain.

His worry was justified, however, considering she’d had a few automotive mishaps back in high school. That, along with her other teenage antics, caused 99.9 percent of the gray hair atop his fifty-three-year-old head. At least that’s what he told her mother every time the subject came up. Nonetheless, with the deed already done, and the ink dry on her contract, he’d taken her new, used car to his trusted mechanic for a thorough inspection. On the way, he’d given her, his beloved only daughter, another lecture—for the hundredth time by her count—on defensive driving.

Cassie would be getting an earful right now on the importance of routine maintenance if he knew she’d let it go two months past time for an oil change and tune-up. It couldn’t be helped, however. Her life had been crazy since her new job required a cross-country move in a matter of weeks. She marked finding a reputable auto shop as priority one on her mental to-do list. For now, she relegated the annoying rattle to the back of her mind while staring through the windshield at the Naval Base Command building in front of her.

Nervous butterflies danced in her stomach, though they shouldn’t. She’d conquered bigger challenges than this. Five years earlier, for instance, when at twenty-six, and never once away from the west coast, she traveled solo to three job interviews in three eastern cities. Then, in the span of a month, survived her first major move, apartment hunting, and beginning a new life in a new town all alone.

Her parents had been beside themselves with worry to have their only child three thousand miles away. But in the glutted computer market she had to go where there was work, especially as a woman in a male-dominated field. Being young and inexperienced certainly hadn’t helped her odds in beating out the hundreds of men applying for the same jobs she did. And, being a petite, blue-eyed blonde with an uncanny resemblance to perky Elle Woods from those Legally Blonde movies, only made matters worse.

Cassie knew the job market was tough, and she might have to start at an entry-level position, gain experience, and work her way up in a company to get where she wanted to be. But she hadn’t expected the brick walls, glass ceilings, and the insincere “we’ll call you’s” when she managed to get an interview, which wasn’t often, all because she lacked one particular job requirement—a penis.

Thirteen months after completion of her graduate degree in computer science from Stanford, which by itself should have opened doors, but didn’t, when an offer came from Foster Dynamics in Boston, she felt she had no choice except to pack up and move.

Now, here she was, five years later, doing it all over again. Almost.

Yes, she was starting over in a new city, but it wasn’t exactly a new job. She’d be working for the same company, the same supervisor, the same program they’d been developing for over a year. Except her new assignment was as a subcontractor for the military on a naval base.

It might as well have been a new planet.

Sure, her company had Department of Defense contracts, but she’d never worked outside the computer lab at their main headquarters. Cassie knew little about the military and even less about the Navy. No one in her family had ever served. The closest she got was Julie, her best friend, and roommate from college.

Jules, as everyone close to her called her, was married to a Navy SEAL. But she’d only seen her a handful of times in the past few years on her infrequent trips home from Boston, to visit her parents. And with Colt overseas, often, she’d seen him even less. But he’d recently been stationed here on Coronado as a SEAL Qualification Training (SQT) instructor.

Having friends living nearby had influenced her decision to move to San Diego. Although, as her bad luck would have it, they’d been called out of town on a family emergency right before she arrived.

Her phone rang at the same time her alarm sounded, interrupting her meandering thoughts. Grabbing it off the seat next to her, she turned off the annoying preset signal and noted the caller. Next, she checked the clock. 8:40.

Plenty of time for a mini-pep talk. Cassie hit the green button, her lips turning up in her first smile of the day.

“Do you have ESP? I was just thinking about you.”

“Did you make it, okay?” Jules asked. “Any trouble on I-94 coming in? It can get so backed up this time of day. Or on I-5? The bridge traffic usually isn’t bad, but you never know. Maybe we should have had you take the ferry. I can’t believe you took an apartment in Emerald Hills. You could have stayed at our place, and when we got home, we would have helped you find something affordable on the island, closer to us.”

“Slow down. I made it in plenty of time. As we speak, I’m sitting in my car in the parking lot of Base Command Headquarters trying to calm a bad case of the butterflies.”

“Deep breaths and focus,” was her friend’s sage advice.

“After that mile a minute greeting, you’re telling me to breathe?”

“You’re right! Sorry. I just hate we couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s not your fault Colt’s mom took a fall, just bad timing.”

One year ahead in college, Jules had always taken the big sister role. And when she married Colton Jameson, he’d stepped right in as the protective big brother. Something Cassie didn’t mind, having neither growing up. When she’d moved east, she’d missed them, a lot.

“You’ve got this, Cassie. You’re going to knock all those badass SEALs on their butts with your mad computer skills.”

“It’s nice you have such confidence in me. I wish I did.”

“Picture them in their underwear; I hear that works.”

As she made the suggestion, two men in camouflage pants and tight white tees walked in front of her car. Both were solid walls of ripped muscle and completely drool-worthy. She’d seen others like them while driving in. In fact, the entire island was swarming with Navy men equally as impressive.

“Uh, Jules. You’ve been to the base. Picturing men who look like Colt in their skivvies is only going to make the butterflies worse.”

She laughed while agreeing, “This is true.”

“How’s Marie doing? Is the physical therapy helping? When do you think you’ll be able to get back?”

“Friday. It was only some bruising and soreness; no fractures thank goodness. We’ve got her settled in her new apartment, and her house is packed up. Colt hired a realtor to handle the sale, but he’ll have to come back for the closing since she gave him her power of attorney. Otherwise, I think we’ve got it covered for now.”

“You couldn’t convince her to move to San Diego?”

“And give up her bridge game with the girls every Wednesday, and singing in the choir on Sundays? The only way Colt talked her into moving out of the old home place is because two members of her bridge club live in the complex already. The man who drives her to choir practice lives there too. I think she’s sweet on him. Colt finds him annoying, just like a protective only son, but he’s a nice, older gentleman, and really seems to care about her, so he’s trying not to snap him in two like a twig.”

The visual made Cassie wince. Colt could do it with the flick of his wrist, although he’d never do it to a kind-hearted senior. She could only imagine his frustration and worry with his aging mother living hundreds of miles away from him. For her part, Marie Jameson was a hoot. Mentally sharp and active at seventy-eight, she had no trouble picturing the lively woman sparking—what she called it—with a sweetheart.

“I’m glad she’s doing well. Send her my love, will you?”

“Yes, and I’m supposed to say thank for the flowers you sent.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. How did she fall, exactly?”

“Salsa dancing.”

“What!” Cassie squealed, shocked, but not really. That was just like Marie.

“I know. Colt about flipped out. But you can’t get that woman to slow down. She said she spun right instead of twirling left, and she and Henry, that’s her man friend, they’re so cute you wouldn’t believe it, Cass. But they both went down in a tangle of legs and support hose.”

The mental picture had them both laughing and close to tears.

“Don’t let Marie hear you say anything about her support hose or you’ll be out of the will,” Cassie warned only half teasing. “Is Colt okay with her staying? I know he worries about her.”

“He tried to lay down the law, but his alpha male, Lieutenant Commander, badass Dom traits don’t work on his mother.”

“Only on you?”

“Me and every other woman who isn’t his mother, especially if they’re submissive. You should see it at our club. Some of the subs, the new ones, who don’t know we’re married—or ignore his collar around my neck—think they can lure him away. When they try, he turns his SEAL instructor death stare on them, and they fall to their knees begging forgiveness, only to scurry away and hide in a corner the rest of the night.”

“You don’t scratch their eyes out for trying to poach your Dom?”

“I don’t have to. Colt shuts it down before they finish batting their lashes and flashing their fake tits.”

“They actually do that? You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m not. Colt has had to call upon a dungeon monitor or a friend to teach the persistent ones some manners. One bitch got to ride the carousel as punishment when she just wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“You’ve mentioned that punishment wheel before,” she shuddered. “It sounds intense and like something you’ve got to see to believe.”

“You can. Colt wants to drive up to LA when we get back. How about on Saturday you come as our guest?”

Jules had been keeping tabs on her love life—or lack thereof—long distance and wasn’t pleased. Cassie hadn’t been out on more than a handful of dates in the past two years, and those were disasters. Her friend kept harping at her to get active in the local BDSM community in Boston, that she would never find what she needed by dating vanilla guys. But Cassie couldn’t do it, not without her best friend by her side, who’d always been her wingman in college, including when they attended their first munch her sophomore year.

She found it hard to believe a decade had passed since that long-ago day. Both were undergrads at USC. Cassie had a class with Jules, and they joined the same study group. The two girls made an instant connection, moving into an apartment together the following year. They were focused students but not so much they didn’t believe in the full college experience, which meant attending a few parties, including at least one at a fraternity or sorority. Most were boring with guys drinking too much beer, acting like asses, and only looking to score, but something happened at one that stuck in their minds and ended up as a turning point for them both.

It was a Saturday night at a frat house off campus. The beer was flowing, and the guests had gotten pretty loose, nothing unusual. As the hour got late, several of the partiers got wilder and more amorous than she and Jules were comfortable with and they decided to leave. As they were making their way through the crowd to the front door, one guy took down the engraved wooden hazing paddle from its place of honor on the wall—not called that, naturally, but everyone knew what it was for—and proceeded to give his girlfriend a few teasing whacks in front of everyone.

Cassie and Jules expected her to throw a fit, but instead, she giggled. In fact, she appeared to enjoy it, wiggling her hips, and grinding her butt against him inviting more. The playful spanking soon became a hot clinch with some heaving groping. The next minute they were running up the stairs, paddle in hand, and everyone knew the spanking, and then some would continue in private.

That was the only thing of interest in an otherwise boring party, but it left them both fascinated and seriously turned on. At first, they laughed it off, making jokes about it. But it stuck with them, and when it kept coming up in conversation, they turned speculative, wondering what it would be like being spanked for real.

Not long after, Jules found a notice tacked to an events board for a once-a-month BDSM munch held at a local restaurant. The flyer claimed it was a safe place for “curious newbies” to make contacts and learn more about the lifestyle. Cassie had stated an emphatic, no, but after several weeks of arm-twisting, her friend had gotten her to agree. Still in a speculative phase, they hadn’t expected much to come of it; then Colton Jameson walked in.

Arriving late, he drew every female eye, and a few appreciative male ones too. They ate him up as he sauntered in, his tight black tee shirt stretched across his broad chest, the short sleeves failing to conceal his bulging biceps, and a tattoo peeking out on one arm. In his late twenties, he was older than college age, but they found this in his favor, and he was gorgeous, exuding more confidence than anyone Cassie had ever met. Both girls were practically panting when he took the only empty seat at the table, opposite from them. Worse, when he looked at them with his warm, chocolate brown eyes and flashed a brilliant white smile their way, they nearly melted on the spot. It was a miracle they didn’t slide jelly-like off their chairs into a puddle beneath the table.

Colt introduced himself to the group as an experienced dominant looking for a new sub. Nothing permanent, he clarified, in a refreshingly straightforward manner, he wanted to keep things casual because he was only in town a few times during the year for training, or between assignments for the Navy.

The word casual nixed Cassie’s interest, and she bowed out, leaving her friend a clear shot at Master Colt. Lucky for her, too, because she would have lost. He had zoned in solely on Jules. At five feet eight, with cover model looks, beautiful green eyes, full pouty lips, and a trim figure, it wasn’t surprising. Lunch had turned into dinner, just the two of them. Then more dinners, followed by breakfasts, and Colt had soon changed his mind about casual.

They found in one another what they hadn’t realized they’d been searching for. Jules getting the dominant Master she hadn’t known she needed, while Colt uncovered the deeply submissive woman inside her, one he could nurture, care for, and love. They weren’t 24/7. Still, she liked more control than a bedroom only sub and Colt enjoyed giving it; they were perfect for each other. So much so, they married a year later.

Cassie’s introduction into the lifestyle hadn’t been nearly as inspiring, nor had it read like an erotic romance. Interested in finding what her friends had, she’d tagged along with them to BDSM clubs on occasion, and been their third wheel at play parties, exploring with a few Doms, here and there. It was fun, but no one excited her or made her feel weak in the knees, the way she’d always imagined it would be.

Then she got the wild idea she needed to immerse herself in the lifestyle, to learn at the knee of an experienced dominant—or more accurately, over it. The summer before grad school, she’d spent three months with an older Dom—defined as forty-two to her young mind at the time—who liked training new submissives. He wasn’t looking for permanence and they never even had sex, but she learned a lot, in particular, what she wanted as a submissive.

She didn’t want casual or a torrid fling. Cassie wanted the real deal: love, marriage, a family, and she wanted her husband to dominate her sexually. A little bleeding over into real life, in a protective, alpha way, as Colt did with his submissive wife, which she found incredibly sexy, would be perfect.

In the years that followed, despite traveling different paths, they stayed close. Jules earned her degree in exercise science and had become a personal trainer, keeping busy with high profile clients in the LA area. She would call on her for company and support while Colt was on assignment overseas, which was often. Cassie had gone on to Stanford, turning her focus on her studies instead of her disappointing love life. During that time, she withdrew from the lifestyle altogether. Her friends hadn’t given up on her, though, especially Jules.

”Honey, you’ve been out of the scene forever,” she said into the long silence. “Don’t you miss playing? Colt knows this nice, easy Dom. He would be ideal to help you get your feet wet again.”

The thought of playing with a stranger, easy or not, didn’t appeal to her. And she had too much on her plate with a new job, to begin exploring in her personal life. As she’d often done in the past, she put her off.

“I’ll be working through the weekend. It takes two of us a full week to get a new lab up and running. It’s just me, remember?”

“Yes, thanks to Gary what’s-his-name’s rotten gallbladder. But I want you to remember something, too.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Cassie groaned. Her friend was persistent, like a dog with a bone, a trait which had earned her many punishments from her dominant husband over the years.

“All work and no play, not to mention only self-induced orgasms, will make Cassie a frustrated submissive.”

Ignoring the comment about masturbation, the only source of orgasms she’d had in a very long time, Cassie addressed what else she’d said. “I don’t know if that’s who I am anymore.”

“Don’t say that. You’re just rusty.”

“And alone. You have Colt but try to remember how hard it was dating. Finding the right guy is tough. Finding one who is also BDSM inclined is next to impossible. I never got the hang of working into a get-to-know-you conversation, along with career, family, and what kind of movies and music I like, that I also get off on being tied up during sex, dominated, and spanked to climax. It’s rather nerve-wracking. They either laugh, assuming I’m joking, or think I’m a freak.”

“That’s why you should let Colt set you up with someone.”

“Now isn’t a good time. I’ve got enough on my mind with work, finding my way in a new city, unpacking, and my car needs service. It’s still making that awful noise.”

“You’re stressed, which is why you need a good flogging and fucking. It will help you relax.”

She rolled her eyes. So said the collared submissive getting it regularly from her Dom husband who was only a pillow away when she went to bed at night.

A car door slammed nearby. Cassie glanced at the clock on the dash. 8:57.

Crap! She was going to be late after getting there fifteen minutes early.

“I’ve got to go,” she squeaked. “I can’t be late for my meeting with the base commander on day one.”

“We’ll talk more about this later.”

Do we have to? Focused on gathering up what she needed and getting inside, she didn’t have time to argue.

“I really gotta go.”

“Okay, Cass. Knock ‘em dead,” Jules urged. “Call me tonight and tell me all about it.”