Bound to Them

Lorna
Jean Roberts

This book is related to
Banishing Shadows.

Crista has better things to do than
watch Nash walk around shirtless. But it’s hard to remember that when faced
with his sexy chest, his wide shoulders and all those lickable muscles.
Delectable. If only she didn’t have an alcoholic brother to worry about, a
stalker scaring her to death and a fear of being hurt again when she just wants
to explore BDSM a little.

Quinn doesn’t want a relationship
and he’s not into men. At least that’s what he tells himself. But there’s no
denying he’s fallen in love—with Nash—and the sex is freaking amazing.

Nash has given up on Quinn admitting
he loves him. Until Quinn chases after him, determined to win him back. But they
need something more. They need someone to bind them together, someone to submit
to them both. They need Crista. And she needs them.

Inside Scoop:
Contains some
scorching m/m/f, m/f/m action. Oh, and there might be handcuffs involved.

A
Romantica®
contemporary erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

He was a glutton for punishment.

There could be no other reason why he was sitting here
nursing his beer while watching the one he loved play with another. Taking a
sip of his lukewarm ale, Nash snuck another glance across the room.

A red-haired, curvy sub lay on her stomach over the spanking
bench—cuffs securing her arms and legs to stop her from moving. The bench
sloped downward, raising her full, creamy ass. Her short leather skirt was
gathered up over her hips, revealing her lack of underwear.

But he wasn’t really interested in the sub. No, the reason
for his pathetic pining and rock-hard cock was the man standing behind her,
preparing to flog her.

A Dom. Why the hell was he attracted to another Dom? Nash
was a Dominant himself, he knew a relationship between two Doms would never
work. Yet he couldn’t seem to get the other man out of his system.

His dick pressed against his zipper and he shifted
uncomfortably. He should find a sub to ease the ache. Except he knew that
wouldn’t work. He might orgasm but the need never truly disappeared.

There was only one person who could alleviate this
particular ache.

Quinn.

Damn, he made an impressive sight. The top half of his face
was encased in a black satin mask to protect his identity. Only his firm jaw, darkened
with a few days’ growth, was visible.

Dark jeans encased Quinn’s legs. His tanned, bare chest and
arms were thick with muscle. A tattoo covered one pec in a swirling design. He
flicked a flogger back and forth, the green ink rippling.

Quinn paused and bent over, whispering in the sub’s ear, his
jeans molding against his sexy ass. Then he stood, swinging the flogger,
caressing the strands over the sub’s thighs and butt.

Jesus, why am I torturing myself?

“He’s not going easy on her tonight. Carly will be a happy
girl.”

Glancing up, Nash sighed as Kincaid St. James, dressed
impeccably as usual, sat down across from him. Kincaid’s self-assurance made
Nash even more aware of his own insecurities. Damn it, he never used to be this
way. He’d always been so confident, in charge.

Funny what love could do to a man.

“Please sit down,” Nash offered sarcastically. He knew St.
James liked to meddle. The owner of Sinfully Yoursdidn’t miss a thing,
and he had no hesitation over offering advice. Even when it wasn’t wanted.

St. James’ lips twitched. “Thank you, I will. At least Carly
knows what to expect. I would prefer to avoid what happened a few months ago.”

Nash raised an eyebrow, hoping he conveyed only slight
interest.

The dark-skinned man smiled. “Master V chose one of the
newer subs for a session. She was a bit put out when he wouldn’t sleep with
her, but she got off on the pain. When he chose to play with someone else the
following week, however, she threw a fit.”

St. James’ voice dripped with disapproval. “She broke five
glasses before the dungeon monitor got to her. Just as well Master V has quick
reflexes. All that dodging almost dislodged that stupid mask of his. I’ve often
told him to get rid of the foolish thing. Of course he’s never been good at
listening to advice.”

Nash stiffened.

“Oh, surely you didn’t think he could keep his identity a
secret from me?” Kincaid queried with amusement.

No,
Nash supposed. That had been a foolish thought.
Nothing got past this sharply intelligent man.

St. James brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his
trousers. “Besides the fact that I meet and vet every member of this club, I
have known Master V for a long time. Long before this place was born.” He
glanced around his club with a fond, if somewhat jaded gaze.

Interesting. Nash hadn’t realized that Quinn and St. James
knew each other outside of Sinfully Yours, St. James’ elite BDSM club. Of
course, Quinn never spoke about the club. He came. He played. He left. End of
story.

“You have? How long have you known him?”

“Hmm, we go back a long way. And I’ve grown rather concerned
about him. In the beginning he came here for fun, to relax. Now playing seems
almost like a chore.”

Quinn’s body tensed as he worked the flogger, the black
strands flowing almost as one. He dropped the leather bands and grabbed the
whip, speaking briefly to his sub.

“I want him to find happiness,” St. James continued quietly.
“To be at peace with himself. With who he really is.”

Nash looked at the other man, trying to figure out what his
game was. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I see the way you look at him.” Nash used all his
control to hide his surprise. “You care for him.” St. James stared at him
steadily, almost daring him to look away, to deny his feelings.

Jesus. Was he that obvious?

The other man chuckled. “No, it’s not that noticeable. I’m
just very good at reading people.”

Nash thought about denying it but damn it, he was not going
to hide his feelings any longer. “So what if I do care for him? He doesn’t feel
the same,” he said bitterly, taking another sip of his drink. It burned going
down but he welcomed the discomfiture, the distraction.

“Doesn’t he?” St. James mused, still staring at him. “I’ve
seen the way he looks back at you.”

Nash met St. James’ gaze coolly, not backing down. “Just
because he likes fucking me doesn’t mean he cares about me.”

You’re a fool
, he berated himself.
Pining after
someone who doesn’t feel the same.

This depth of feeling was unusual for him. He’d never been
in love before. Certainly never with a man. Hell, he’d never really been in a
relationship before. As soon as things started to get complicated, he’d leave.
Christ, what an arrogant bastard he’d been. If he’d made any of those women
feel as used and heartbroken as he did right now then he owed a lot of people
an apology.

“He loves you.”

Nash snorted. “Right.” If Quinn loved him, then he was doing
a hell of a job of hiding it. Why did the only man Nash had been interested in
for years have to be so afraid of his feelings, of embracing who he was?

“He’s scared to admit to his love. I know him. Why do you
think he hides behind that mask?”

“Because he’s ashamed. He’s ashamed of his needs. And if he
ever does admit he has feelings for me,” and Nash really doubted that he had
those feelings, “he’d be ashamed of me as well.”

St. James sighed. “My, he is making a hash of things, isn’t
he? He thinks his family would reject him if they knew his needs, that his
sexual preferences would affect his business.”

“If you met his family you’d know that’s bullshit. They
would never turn their backs on him.”

St. James’ lips twitched. “I have met them, actually. And I
agree with you.”

“All sorts of people come here. Lawyers, real estate agents,
nurses, musicians. Being involved in the lifestyle won’t harm his business.”

“Quite right.” St. James sounded proud, as though he were
talking to a clever pupil.

Nash forced his fists to unclench.

“But he’s made himself believe it,” St. James added. “You
need to make him face his fears if you ever want to win him over.”

Nash took a large gulp of beer. “What makes you think I want
him anymore? He ignores me, rejects me at every turn. I have my own shit, man.
Why should I heal his?”

“Because you love him.”

Nash shook his head and rose, his chair slamming back
against the wall behind him, grabbing people’s curiosity. He didn’t care.
“Thanks for the pep talk. I don’t think I’ll be back so I’ll say goodbye now.”

St. James gave him a solemn look. “Good luck, my friend.”

Quinn saw Nash stand, tension obvious in the hard set of his
shoulders, the tightly controlled way that he moved. Quinn fought his
instinctive inclination to go to him. What the hell was going on? Nash strode
away, shoulders stiff, hands clenched at his sides.

Carly moaned suddenly and Quinn forced his attention back to
her. Letting his mind wander during a session was unforgivable. His brain
wouldn’t settle though, and he realized he couldn’t continue. Carly deserved
his full attention. He signaled one of the dungeon monitors.

Kincaid had a number of Doms on his payroll who monitored
play in the club, ensuring everyone’s safety. Jarred was on the floor tonight,
and Quinn knew he’d take care of Carly. Placing the whip down, Quinn walked
around to face the pretty red-haired woman, crouching to meet her eyes.

“Sorry, sub. I’m calling it.” He undid the clasps holding
her arms and then moved to the straps around her back and ankles.

“Why?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred.

Shit. She’d been on the edge of subspace and he’d pulled her
back.
Asshole.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie. Do you want me to find someone else
to continue?”

She shook her head.

Quinn helped her sit, holding her as she slumped toward him.
He encased her in a blanket before pulling back to look at her.

“How you doing, Carly?”

“Good, Sir.” She sighed. “No one wields the whip like you
do.”

Well, he’d had plenty of practice. He rubbed her back,
holding on to her until she was fully aware once more. And the entire time, his
mind kept conjuring up the image of a tall, rugged-looking man wearing cowboy
boots. Stepping away, he cleaned the equipment and gathered his toys.

Twenty minutes later, Quinn sat at the bar, sipping whiskey.
When Kincaid sat beside him, he didn’t even bother to look up.

“What the hell is wrong with me, Kincaid?”

Why do I fuck everything up?

“You’re in denial, old friend. You love him.”

“I’m not fucking gay,” Quinn spat out, unsurprised that
Kincaid knew about his feelings for Nash. Nothing got by Kincaid, especially in
his own club.

“Never said you were, Master V,” Kincaid replied with a
touch of mocking sarcasm.

Master V, his Dom name. Pathetic. He couldn’t even use Q,
too worried someone might catch on. Recognize him. It would happen one day.
Quinn sighed. The only way to eliminate the risk of exposure was to give up
coming to the club.

And yet he ended up back here every Saturday night.

“Then why the hell am I attracted to him?”

“Why do you have to give your feelings a label? Why do you
have to be straight, gay or bi? Why can’t you just be you?”

“Not that easy.” He stared down at the amber liquid in his glass.

“Isn’t it?” Kincaid leaned back, studying him.

“Other men don’t interest me. I don’t want to fuck your
brains out. I don’t look at you and think you’re hot.”

“I’m pretty sure I should be insulted by that,” Kincaid said
dryly.

Quinn ignored him. “Nash is the only man I feel attracted
to.”

Kincaid leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his
chest. “You want him.”

“I can’t get him out of my mind. I think of him.
Constantly.” Quinn clasped his hands around the glass. “It’s not just about
sex. I like talking with him, being around him. But I can’t be with him. I’m
not gay. And I am not getting into a relationship. Not again.”

“Nash isn’t Caroline. He’s not ashamed of you or himself.
Nash knows who he is.”

Quinn ground his teeth at the name of his ex-fiancée. “And
that’s another problem. Who ever heard of two Doms having a relationship? We
both need to be in charge.”

“Maybe what you need is a third. A sub.”

Quinn faced his friend. “What are you talking about? Hell,
Kincaid, I can’t even contemplate a relationship with Nash, and you already
want to add someone else to the mix?”

Kincaid’s eyes narrowed, his cheekbones standing out starkly
as he frowned fiercely. “You know, maybe instead of making excuses about why
you can’t be in a relationship, you should be thankful that you found a man
like Nash. One who will love you, accept you for who you are. Because I tell
you what, man, a lot of people would be fucking down on their knees thanking
God if they found themselves in your position.”

* * * * *

On their knees thanking God.

Quinn couldn’t get the words out of his mind hours later as
he sat in a dimly lit parking lot, staring at Nash’s motel room.

On their knees.

Trouble was, he could see himself on his knees. Only he
wasn’t thanking God—he was doing a different kind of worshipping. One involving
a very long, thick cock in his mouth.

Nash had been staying at this motel for over a month. The
same motel where Quinn’s sister and her fiancé Cord had stayed after her
apartment had been trashed.

Nash and Cord had served together in the army. When Cord had
needed help protecting Kayla he’d called Nash. After they’d caught the bastards
terrorizing Kayla, Nash had stayed on, working on and off for Quinn and his
brothers. They’d all offered him a place to stay but he’d opted to stay at a
motel. He’d been living in limbo, unsure if he would stay or go.

My fault.
Because he couldn’t get his fucking act
together and either push Nash away forever or open up his life and let him in.

I’m a bastard.

Quinn hated himself for treating Nash this way—pushing him
away until the need got to be too much. Then he’d end up knocking on Nash’s
door. They’d barely speak, never acknowledging why he was here.

They’d just fuck.

Afterward he’d feel better. And worse.

I’m so screwed up.

Nash is nothing like Caroline.

Well, duh. Caroline had been all sweetness and light. On the
outside. He’d made the mistake of disclosing everything about himself to her.
Of thinking she’d love him no matter what.

He’d told her what no one but Kincaid had known. That he
longed to dominate her, restrain her, control her in the bedroom. To explore
bondage and submission. She’d pretended to accept who he was. Until he’d
actually try something, and then she’d look at him as if he were dog shit on
her shoe. So gradually he’d stopped asking, smothering that part of himself.
He’d let her mold him into someone he wasn’t.