Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

SETH

L a Selva, Colombia

Several Months Ago

The dense canopy of the South American jungle loomed overhead, a thick blanket of green that barely let through the moonlight. Shadows snaked along the forest floor as a tall, muscular figure moved silently through the underbrush. For the past couple of years, Seth Newcomb, one of Cerberus' most seasoned operatives, had been sitting on his ass in the Chicago office, but boredom had set in, and he'd opted to take on some work in the field. He might have been sidelined for a while, but he'd kept himself in top shape and had years of experience in missions like this.

His broad shoulders and powerful frame were barely contained by the dark tactical gear he wore, each step calculated, each movement deliberate. The sound of insects and distant animals filled the humid air, but Seth's focus was locked ahead, where the faint light of a small encampment flickered in the distance.

The encampment was a cluster of crude huts surrounded by a tall wooden fence. Inside, armed guards patrolled lazily, their rifles slung casually over their shoulders. Seth counted them as he observed from the tree line—six on the outside, another four inside. The biggest hut, with its roof slightly higher than the others, was his target.

Inside that hut was John Whitmore, a 55-year-old British business executive. Whitmore, who was the head of a global conglomerate, had been kidnapped months ago while overseeing a project in this remote part of South America. Ransom demands had been made, negotiations had dragged out and stagnated, and it was now clear the kidnappers never intended to release him alive. Whitmore had been forgotten by the world, but not by his family, who had hired Cerberus to make an extraction. This kind of single-man strike was a Cerberus specialty.

Seth moved quickly, using the cover of the thick foliage to get closer to the fence. His muscles tensed as he leaped up, grabbing the top of the wooden barrier and pulling himself over with ease. He landed silently on the other side, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. The guards were oblivious, too complacent to notice the predator now within their midst.

One by one, Seth dispatched them. A swift knife to the throat here, a chokehold there. He moved like a shadow, a phantom in the night. When the last guard outside dropped, Seth approached the largest hut. The door was flimsy, held by a simple lock, which he easily picked. As he entered, the stench of sweat and decay hit him like a wave. Ignoring it, Seth moved through the guards on the inside like a swift, deadly wraith—ending them before they ever really knew he was there.

The dim light from a single bulb revealed a small, filthy room, and in the center of it, chained to a chair, was John Whitmore. The man was a shadow of his former self—thin, with a long beard and hollow eyes. But the fire of life still burned within them, and when he saw Seth, a flicker of hope returned. Seth quickly moved to him, his powerful hands snapping the chains like they were nothing more than threads.

"Who... who are you?" Whitmore's voice was hoarse, weak from months of neglect.

"Seth Newcomb," he replied, his voice a deep, reassuring rumble. "Your ticket home."

With Whitmore's arm over his shoulder, Seth led him out of the hut. The older man stumbled, his legs weak from confinement, but Seth's strength supported him. The alarm was raised just as they reached the perimeter, shouts in Spanish echoing through the camp. Gunfire erupted, but Seth was already moving, his powerful legs propelling them both forward.

With expert precision, Seth returned fire, his aim deadly. The guards were no match for him, falling one after another as they tried to stop the escape. Finally, they reached the extraction point, a clearing where a helicopter waited, its blades already spinning. Seth lifted Whitmore into the helicopter, his muscular arms barely strained by the effort.

As the helicopter lifted off, Seth stood at the open door, his sharp eyes scanning the jungle below. The camp was shrinking into the distance, the danger left behind. He turned back to Whitmore, who was now sitting, breathing heavily but safe.

"Thank you," Whitmore whispered, the words heavy with emotion.

Seth simply nodded; his mission complete. The jungle below faded into darkness as they flew toward freedom, the roar of the helicopter drowning out the remnants of the nightmare that had been Whitmore's life for the past several months.

But now, thanks to Seth Newcomb, that nightmare was over.

Baker Street

London, England

"You sure you want to do this?" asked Fitz in his deep Scottish brogue as they watched the woman who kneeled naked in a classic submissive's pose through the one-way mirror.

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Seth, who'd accompanied Whitmore from South America back to the UK and had been enjoying a much-deserved vacation, spending his time resting and playing at the famed lifestyle club, which served as the worldwide headquarters of Cerberus.

Robert Fitzwallace, head of Cerberus, arched his eyebrow at the head of his Cybersecurity Division. "You watch Hope Pearson like a hungry dog looking at a bone."

"I do not," scoffed Seth, hoping the Scotsman might believe him. One look at Fitzwallace, accompanied by a disgusted snort, told Seth he was hoping in vain. "What's she doing here, anyway?"

"Hope's been a member of the club for years. It's how she met Royce. I don't think she felt comfortable playing at Club Southside after Royce and Camille got together. When she was promoted to legal attaché here at the Embassy in London, she started playing at Baker Street again."

"What's with the blindfold and the anonymity?"

Fitz shook his head. "Miley used to do the same thing. They hold non-traditional female roles in their regular lives. JJ tells me that they believe identifying as a submissive and needing something only a Dom can give them makes them look weak in the eyes of those they work with."

"That is such bullshit. It takes a strong individual to recognize a need to submit and let loose of all control if only for a little bit."

"Aye, but you're a Dom, which means you know how it is. That leads me back to my original question: are you sure you want to do this? I'll tell you now, I think one of the reasons Royce couldn't let what he thought was her betrayal go was because he knew how you felt about her."

"I didn't have any feelings about her. She was Royce's sub, and I don't poach."

"Nay, lad, you're far too honorable to do that, but it doesn't mean he didn't notice the way you looked at her. I also think he believed if he got out of the way, the two of you might get together."

It was Seth's turn to snort. "Hope was never interested in me."

"You keep telling yourself that, and you may miss the opportunity of a lifetime."

The hairs on the back of Seth's neck began to tickle. "What opportunity? What are you up to?"

"Never you mind. From the moment you knew Hope was in London and playing at Baker Street again, you've been angling to come for a visit. I'm handing her to you on a silver platter. The only thing that is left to be seen is whether you're Dom enough to take it. Are you, or should I find someone else?"

"If she's looking for a Shibari session, I'm the best one here. Besides, you know I would never betray her confidence."

"I'll leave you to it then. Remember, she isn't to know it's you, so disguise your voice. Hope finds peace and solace in being bound. I expect you to give that to her."

"And if she wants more?" Seth asked.

"There's nothing to prevent you from going as far as either of you would like. Hope knows the score, and you're on the stoplight system."

Seth nodded, picked up his kit, which contained the rope he liked to use, and headed toward the private playroom. Outside the door, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, centering himself, and entered the room. If Hope could find peace and solace in his ropes, he meant to give it to her.

Deciding that most women he knew loved a Scottish accent and doing a passable imitation of Fitz, he set his kit down quietly. "In case you couldn't tell, you're no longer alone."

"Fitz?"

"Nay, lass. The Scotsman only plays with his wife. He said you were looking for a scene involving Shibari. I've considerable skill in the art, and I'd love to see your beautiful body bound in my ropes."

Hope's body shivered with desire. She was a beautiful woman. She reminded him of a taller version of a young Elizabeth Taylor—black hair, violet eyes, and an hourglass figure that could keep a man enchanted forever. Seeing her naked, on her knees, blindfolded with her hands resting on top of her slightly parted thighs was something he thought he'd remember for the rest of his life. Her nipples were erect, and what he could see of her sex said she was already aroused.

He'd been secretly glad when Royce had pitched a hissy fit about finding Hope in the arms of a man who turned out to be a Russian spy. Hope hadn't known that at the time, and she and Royce had never formalized their relationship nor asked for exclusivity on either side. Whether or not she had actually cheated was debatable. In Seth's mind, Royce was just as much at fault for not declaring himself.

"Give me your hand, lass." Hope obeyed and placed one hand in his. "I'm going to help you get to your feet."

"Yes, Sir," she said with a soft smile curling her lips.

He moved behind her, taking her arm with him—she offered him no resistance. "I'm going to position your arms in a U behind your back, forearms touching with your fingers pointed toward your opposing elbows."

Gently, he moved her hands into place. The position would arch her back slightly, pushing her breasts out. He bound her arms, using a double-column tie and passing it around her waist. The room's lighting was low and moody, which didn't matter to her as she was blindfolded, but it seemed to put everything on soft focus, making her skin almost glow.

He'd always known that Hope found peace in being bound. Royce had done it for her, but it wasn't something he particularly enjoyed. He might like seeing a woman bound in a role play, but he didn't savor every knot he tied, connecting in a deeply intimate manner that, when done right, could send the one being bound into subspace.

Seth worked carefully. The rope he used was soft but would leave a pattern that would last several hours once she was released from it. He secured an overhand knot in the front, ensuring it was snug. Between her breasts and the hollow of her throat, he tied another overhand knot. Each time he pulled a knot snug, he could feel his cock tightening that much more. He'd actually convinced himself that he hadn't wanted her back then. He'd been wrong.

"Do you know how beautiful you are, lass?" he purred as he brought the rope over her shoulders and around her arms.

Slowly and methodically, he worked the ropes until she was wrapped in an intricate tortoiseshell pattern of his own design, passing the rope under her arms and back around to her front. Her nipples had been puckered before; now they were hard nubs just begging to be suckled.

Hope remained absolutely still as he continued to move the rope along her skin, letting his fingers linger here and there. He wanted it loose enough that it didn't damage her circulatory system, but snug enough that she could feel it. With each knot, each wrap, he could feel Hope relax.

He wrapped her breasts in the rope so that only her areola and nipples were showing. Her breath hitched, and she shivered. He could see and smell the uptick in her arousal. Seth loved women, loved seeing them naked and willing or naked and angry until his hands and mouth brought them pleasure long before he indulged himself.

People believed that the lifestyle was one-sided, where the Dom took from the sub, and she serviced him in any way he liked. There were relationships like that. But in all the best ones he knew, there was give and take on both sides, and most of the Doms he respected were far more concerned about their sub's well-being than their own personal gratification.

He finished off the design and stepped back. "Lass, you are a masterpiece; absolutely beautiful."

"I feel amazing," she said dreamily.

God, the sound of Hope's voice when she was aroused was like hearing the angels sing, but only if said angels had deeply sultry, sensual voices.

"I'm going to move you to the wall. If you were mine, I'd take you downstairs so every man in the place could see how beautiful you are bound in my ropes." She started to stiffen. "You're not mine, and I won't take you downstairs, but I'd like to help you achieve subspace."

She shook her head. "I can get close."

"Trust me for just a while longer. You can stop me at any time."

"All right," she said, nodding her head.

Seth backed Hope up to a place on the wall that had a bar she could grasp. "I want you to use that to steady yourself. If you start to fall or your knees start to buckle, I will catch you."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to feast on the most intoxicating pussy I've ever smelled. Earlier tonight, someone called me a hungry dog. He was wrong. I'm a starving man, and you're the feast I've been waiting for."

When her only response was another smile, he knelt before her. Seth allowed his hands to skim down her thighs as he nuzzled her with his nose before spreading her legs a little wider, seeing her engorged clit and the slick, wet folds of her labia. He licked her in a single long pass up one side of her sex, across her clit, and then back down. He grinned as she grasped the bar to steady herself.

"Good lass," he murmured as he nuzzled her clit, sucked it between his teeth, and gave her a little nip, making her cry out.

Hope was primed and ripe—her body ready for whatever pleasure he wanted to give her. Her arousal was intoxicating, and he had to focus on her to keep himself from going into a frenzy. He wasn't going to fuck her blindfolded, at least not tonight. But he would make her come. He would send her to subspace. Afterward, he would cuddle her in a blanket, removing the blindfold and allowing her to ease back into reality.

It was a good plan.

Seth feasted on her sex, spearing her pussy with his tongue again and again, lapping up the honey she offered him. Forget ambrosia; this was the nectar of the gods. His tongue was coated in her juices as he worked her over, holding her firm and steady as he feasted on her essence.

Hope's body shook and went stiff as she arched her back, shoving her pussy into his face. She moaned before sighing and relaxing.

"You were amazing, Hope."

Seth would never be sure who realized he hadn't used his accent first and had called her by name—Hope or him.

"Red! Red! Red! Get me out of these ropes," she snarled.

"Hope, it's all right."

"It sure as hell isn't. Whoever is monitoring this room, get me the fuck out of these bindings. I mean it, Seth. I know you have a knife. Cut me loose."

Grabbing the knife he'd kept within arms reach, he did exactly that. He cut her loose so that she was free within seconds. She ripped the blindfold from around her head.

"You bastard," she roared.

"Take it easy, Hope. You're not hurt. For fuck's sake, I just gave you an orgasm, and you were slipping into subspace."

Seth would never be sure what she might have said next, but obviously, his touching her to try and calm her down was the wrong thing to do. They say you never hear the bullet that kills you. Seth now knew you never heard or saw the punch that would break your nose.