He unzipped her jeans and yanked them and her panties down until they hobbled her ankles.

His powerful hands kneaded her bare bottom before he touched her between her legs. His quick grin showed his pleasure at finding her completely soaked. “We’ve been miscommunicating, sweetling,” he murmured. “That stops now.”

Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded.

After nudging the end table aside with his foot, he pushed her to the end of the sofa. With a firm hand, he bent her forward over the padded arm until her chest hit the seat cushions. Her toes barely scraped the floor, leaving her no leverage. Her hands were still bound behind her, and a merciless grip on her nape kept her in place.

The way he effortlessly conquered her attempts to move sent a lovely squishy sensation through her, right down to her toes.

Then he smacked her bottom, hard enough to make the skin sting.

Oh spit. Ow! She jerked and gritted her teeth. He wasn’t going to be nice.

The spanking continued—deliberate and intense—as he punctuated each swat with a growling voice. “You. Are. Not. Fat.”

The painful smarting widened, covering her buttocks. Ow! Her fists clenched.

“You’re beautiful. Lush and womanly. And you’re mine.” Another and another, until each blow sent reverberations through her pelvis, lighting up every single nerve in her female parts.

His hand slid between her legs again, and he gave a hum of satisfaction, using his fingers in a way he hadn’t since before Zane was born. He explored her pussy as if he had the right, and no matter how she wiggled, he would take that right. He stroked her clit until her toes curled, slid a finger around her entrance and pressed in.

Added another finger.

She moaned, wanting more. Wanting him.

Instead of taking her, he opened the drawer of the end table where he kept his supplies.

She craned her neck to see and…he was lubing an anal plug. Oh jeez. It was a small one, at least; thank you, God.

With a hand on one buttock, pulling her open, he pressed the nasty thing inside. And turned it on so it vibrated right there in her backside.

“Wait. Dan—” That earned her a swift smack on her stinging bottom.

“Did you have permission to speak?”

“No, Sir.”

“Safe word is red. Are you saying your safe word?”

God, her behind stung and burned, and that plug was vibrating each nerve into a state of intense arousal that she hadn’t felt in months. “Oh God,” she moaned.

His chuckle was gruff. Pleased. “I’ve missed torturing your sweet body into orgasms.”

She heard the sound of his jean’s zipper, and his cock pressed against her entrance. He slid in deeply, ruthlessly, filling her.

Her bound wrists jerked—couldn’t move—and she sank down, completely down, into acceptance. Couldn’t do anything. Could only take and take.

And oh, he gave. Slow and steady, so very controlled, using his legs to pin her thighs against the sofa. He reached around and ran a finger over her slick clit.

“Oh, oh, oh.” She was so ready. Right there.

“Give it to me, little sub,” he murmured, and he rubbed ruthlessly. One side, the other, and she broke, exploding into a magnificent orgasm, the sensations lashing through her in a maelstrom of intensity, until she trembled under his hands.

His laugh was deep and satisfied. “Oh yeah, your body liked that. You haven’t changed, pet.” Gripping her hips hard, he drove into her, forceful and fast and rough, until she heard only the slap, slap, slap of their bodies. He drove her back up until she was squirming under him.

With a low groan, he pressed inside her and came, emptying himself in her.

Despite the hum of arousal he’d reawakened in her, she sank into the couch, happier than she’d been for ever so long. The tie—that elusive tie between them—was back. His masculine scent surrounded her; his arms were anchoring bands.

“You are beautiful. My wonderful little sub,” he whispered in her ear. “Stand up, sweetling.” He pulled her upright and helped her step out of her jeans and panties. He turned off the anal plug.

He didn’t remove it.

Didn’t remove the shirt around her wrists.

“Sir?”

His lips curved as he turned her around. “Time for a shower. I’ll get my bag from the closet, and we’ll start over.” He thumbed her nipple back to a jutting point. “We have all night, you know.”

The tremor that shook her body felt like heaven. Oh yes. Sally, I owe you a big hug.

As he tucked an arm around her and guided her up the stairs, she wondered if she’d be able to walk in the morning.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Settled at the table in Gabi’s kitchen, Sally tapped her fingers on her laptop. Side by side on another chair, Gabi’s two black cats watched her. Hamlet and Horatio. One sleek; one fluffy. The house was quiet since Master Marcus and Gabi had left to attend a karate tournament to cheer for some teenagers.

Sally had wanted to stay and do some thinking. Late last night, she’d had a long talk with Gabi and Marcus. They’d been wonderfully understanding.

And she’d reached a few decisions.

She’d been wrong to blame herself for what happened with her and the Feds. If she hadn’t been so ready to believe she was a selfish person—thanks, Father—she’d have demanded an explanation from them.

So, once this was all settled, she’d take Gabi’s advice and see about some counseling. The men had brought her a long way, but taking the next step—getting herself some help—was up to her.

And, dammit, she’d been wrong to blame the overprotective—gutless—men she loved. They were trying to keep her safe, and who knew, maybe she’d make the same decision if she were in their shoes.

Really, there was only one person to blame for messing up her relationship with her Doms. That arsonist.

He’d killed Tillman, the police, and that poor woman. His brother had shot Vance. The anger from that fed into her determination. She’d been content to promise to give up hacking since it seemed as if she’d done what she could. That the Association would be destroyed quickly enough.

She’d been almost right. But there was one left, and he was the reason she hadn’t woken up this morning snuggled between two muscular male bodies.

Since the bastard had ripped apart her relationship with the Feds, she thought it was perfectly logical that he’d also severed any promises she’d made to the Feds.

Logic is an excellent weapon when employed correctly.

She opened her laptop. Ever since she’d handed over her files to Galen and Vance, her hacking software had been calling her—Sally, Sally, Sally.

And now…she answered the summons. Mouth set in a straight line, she logged on.

In New York, Galen, being careful—might even call him a bit paranoid—had monitored as she deleted her computer worm program and Association files. And he’d even demanded she turn over the flash drives. She smirked as her fingers ran over the keyboard.

Wasn’t it a shame that he’d missed seeing the tiny tray icon denoting a continuous online backup? And that he hadn’t realized the e-mails came from an online mail program and weren’t deleted?

“I never cheated. Never checked the software or e-mails,” she told the cats virtuously. “I was a good girl.”

She looked around the room. Even checked under the table. “Well, hell, guys. I don’t see any good girls here today. Do you?”

Hamlet offered a tail flick of agreement.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” She clicked onto the Internet and smiled as her files opened up like a cannon barrage. Target my Galen, will you?

Fuck that. If war was what the arsonist wanted, war was what he’d get.

* * * *

Seated in front of his computer, Vance was drinking coffee, typing up a report, and trying to ignore how empty the house felt without Sally. The morning had passed with the speed of cold molasses.

Too antsy to sit, Galen had spent the last few hours working on the dungeon in the cabana before returning to the office and covering the center table with his weapons.

A timer went off with a quiet beep-beep-beep.

Vance glanced over his shoulder. “What’s that for?”

Galen frowned. His rifle and three automatic handguns were dismantled and scattered over the table on opened newspapers, ready for cleaning. It was his ritual as he prepared for action.

On the far side of the table, Glock supervised from a safe distance.

Everyone reacted to impending danger in different ways. Galen liked to clean his weapons; Vance lifted weights.

“The timer is for the backsplash in the cabana. The grout is set; it’s ready to be buffed and caulked.” Galen wiped his hands on a paper towel. “I’ll get that done and be back to finish up.” His brief smile didn’t get to his eyes. “Don’t let anyone burn the place down until I get my weapons reassembled.”

“Do my best.” Vance took a drink of his coffee. “Though I’d rather be in New York, taking that bastard down.”

Late last night, Drew Somerfeld’s credit card had popped onto the FBI radar. Apparently Ellis had booked himself onto a flight to Florida this afternoon. He’d probably lifted his brother’s ID and cards from the safe. Since he and Drew were twins, he’d pass well enough as his brother.