DASH: ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #3 Read online

  DASH

  ODIN’S FURY MOTORCYCLE CLUB #3

  Victoria Jayne

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Gingersnap…coming soon…

  Note from Author

  About the Author

  For my amazing husband. Thank you for always being in my corner, reminding me never to forget my wins, and to stop focusing on my losses. Ghost and Shy, words cannot express how grateful I am to have you in my life. Last, Booktok After Dark, thank you for all your love and support. Thank you Rose for reading and being my second set of eyes.

  Chapter 1

  Daniel “Dash” Bowden

  With his intense gaze trained on the petite blonde he’d strapped to the wooden St. Andrew’s cross, Dash slowly stalked around her in a circle. Neoprene cuffs secured her in place. Soft as they were, they had some give. Not a point in their favor. He preferred his leather ones, but she’d brought these, and he was nothing if not flexible.

  He’d allowed them for her comfort. The sight of her wriggling as she pulled at them made his jaw tighten. The neoprene cuffs allowed for more movement, more freedom. That was the opposite of his intent and the antithesis of their scene. He’d had to adjust to account for all that squirming. His top lip curled in unseen annoyance. The sight of her inferior cuffs irked him.

  With her chest heaving, her head hung between the juncture of the cross. Color remained in her fingers, though the knuckles were white because of her grip on the edge of the wood. A red flush painted her cheeks, though from arousal or embarrassment wasn’t clear. He wasn’t sure there was a difference for her—and whatever the reason, it made her ten times more attractive.

  But. She’d yellowed.

  They’d played together for a few weeks and had several scenes under their belts. She wasn’t at his skill level. In time—if he wanted to invest it—maybe. She said she wanted to get there. He wasn’t sure. While she never fully safe worded, she asked him to slow down frequently. Her actions and her words didn’t match—a sign their desires didn’t either.

  He’d prefer not to waste time with someone who wasn’t into his kinks. Time wasn’t something he had in excess. A partner who shared some of his proclivities would make the rare instances he could get away more enjoyable. He found no pleasure in a partner who wasn’t getting off on it too.

  Safe. Sane. Consensual.

  He gave every woman he played with the stop light system—the most common and easiest one to remember. Red meant he’d stop in his tracks and playtime was over. Yellow meant she needed a break. He’d pause to check in. Green was good to go and only uttered after a yellow.

  She’d yellowed, again.

  Once behind her, he paused and admired her bare, heart-shaped ass. The fresh red stripes he’d created with the acrylic cane glowed nicely against her pale skin. A few were raised, where he’d gained momentum, but damn her if she didn’t yellow when he’d finally gotten his rhythm, again.

  No. He wouldn’t invest his time further. It wasn’t her fault or a bad thing. He played at a higher intensity than most—a fact that made it difficult, but magical, when he found someone who could keep pace with him.

  Bringing his hand down onto the globe of one ass cheek, he stepped closer to her. Purposely, he leaned in, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the tender flesh.

  “Breathe,” he whispered. As a dominant, he had a responsibility to take care of her.

  “I just, I-I…it. I just needed…” she stammered through ragged breaths.

  Unable to prevent the grin of amusement, he gently rubbed her ass. “Shhhh.” As much as he enjoyed her squirming, she wasn’t ready for him. Clear as day was a desire to submit, perhaps even to be pleasing. Though, it wasn’t directed at him specifically. She liked chocolate ice cream and he liked rocky road. Still chocolate, but far more intense.

  “I’m sorry. Just give me a minute,” she whimpered. Poor thing. She tried so hard. A better man would work with her.

  “Take your time.” He wasn’t a complete asshole. He’d been in this lifestyle a long time. He knew when a woman pushed against her comfort zone for another person. This one shoved too hard. There was pushing and then there was plowing. She’d need to demolish her comfort zone and he didn’t have the time to build that back up with her.

  With a short squeeze of her ass, and she did have a delicious ass that marked beautifully, her breath hitched again. That response never got old. These were the things that kept him coming back.

  “Deep breaths,” he coaxed.

  Obediently, she did as he instructed. Several deliberate, deep inhales made her body shift while he groped her pretty little behind. The soft whimpers made his cock threaten to punch through his jeans.

  She meant well. He couldn’t fault her. New to the life as she was, she had a lot of lessons to learn. Dash wasn’t the one to teach her. She needed more of a daddy type, and less of a sadist.

  “Green,” she said with resolve in her voice. It was adorable and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “I’m in no rush. I have all night,” he replied, knowing she wasn’t ready for the level of play he wanted. Moving her hair to one side, exposing the bare skin of her shoulder and neck, he gave her a soft kiss. That was more her speed.

  Her body heated under his lips. He wasn’t against kissing. He just didn’t like to do it with people he only deemed play partners. It sent the wrong message. Especially kissing on the mouth. When he wasn’t willing to offer it, Dash actively avoided the suggestion of deeper intimacy. So, he wouldn’t kiss her on the lips, just other parts of her body, erogenous zones. They were fair game. This was one of his favorite parts of playing—dancing between pleasure and pain, being the bringer of both.

  She moaned after he dragged his teeth along the joint of her neck and shoulder. Taking it as his cue that’d she’d moved into the right headspace, he stepped back. Satisfied she’d let him get a few good licks in before she yellowed again, he considered what he’d do next.

  With the probability of her utilizing the stoplight system again on his mind, he turned to consider his options. He reached for his toys, the ones he’d laid out from his bag, and he steered away from some of his more sting-y items. She did better with things offering a thuddy sensation. As he lifted the heavy flogger, with bull hide for the falls, he ran his fingers through the strips. It took a bit of muscle to use it, but the effect was worth the effort.

  A compromise. It’d give him satisfaction to wield it, give her the thud feeling she preferred. Again, flexibility. If only she’d trusted his ability to adapt to her. This was why she wasn’t for him. He wanted the freedom to use all his toys.

  He wasn’t for her either. She didn’t get turned on by the same things he did. They weren’t complimentary in their kicks. Deal breaker. Turning his focus back on her, he decided. This was their last play session.

  His bicep strained as he pulled the heavy instrument back. The deep thwop of the flogger landing high on her back, near her shoulders, elicit
ed a guttural groan from her. Her knees bent and she held the cross tight. Perfect.

  Thwop. Thwop. Thwop.

  Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Left shoulder. Like a dance, he followed the rhythm in his mind. Each time the falls of his flogger connected with her skin, they left a rosy reminder in their wake. Spreading the red across her body evenly, he swayed in time with the momentum and weight of the swings.

  Thwop. Thwop. Thwop.

  The impact vibrated through his arm and spurred him to go harder and faster. The sound the flogger made when it struck her skin sent jolts through his body, straight to his dick. The longer she continued, the more mesmerized he became.

  Nothing was more intoxicating than a woman allowing herself to be vulnerable. It made him pitch a tent knowing she trusted him enough to inflict pain on her, when he could easily mar her permanently or worse. The trust lay in believing he knew her limit. Like a drug he couldn’t get enough of, he chased that high.

  Except this woman didn’t trust him to that extent. She didn’t pick up on the subtle things he did for her skill level. She didn’t pay attention to the fact he’d switched from the cane to the flogger because he knew she couldn’t handle the intensity. Nor did she pick up on the fact he’d known her pain preference.

  He suspected she was too much in her head trying to be what he wanted. This problem permeated the BDSM community. It crippled communication and killed honesty. A power exchange relationship where the submissive wasn’t honest could never work.

  Taking a break from his swings, he observed her as she trembled. Soft whines came from her while he began his check in. He walked around to her front. With the thick braided handle of the flogger in one hand, he took hold of her chin with the other. Lifting her head, he inspected her.

  Her cheeks flushed, eyes glazed, and her lack of focus meant he’d done it. His cock pressed against his jeans from the look on her face. He’d gotten her to sub space with the flogger. Yes. She liked thuddy, and this was the thuddiest thing he owned.

  He smirked in the face of his victory.

  Before letting her chin fall, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. With a bit more swagger, he sauntered around to the back of the cross. As he lifted the braided handle of the flogger, he once more admired her curves and her backside. How wonderfully her skin marked. Pulling the flogger back, about to swing it through the air again, the chimes of the burner phone drew his attention, interrupting him.

  Dash carried two phones with him most times. His personal for his family and some friends outside of the club. The other was a burner he got from the clubhouse. Club business was always handled on the disposable.

  Putting the flogger down, he walked over to the chair that held his cut. Tension crawled up his spine, mingling with the excitement and anticipation blossoming from the scene. Reaching into the inside pocket, he pulled out the gray flip phone. An envelope on the front screen showed he had a text.

  Club: Church in 20.

  Sighing, he tucked the phone away. He wasn’t a big fan of having play time interrupted, but the club came first. Perhaps another reason he couldn’t have a full time submissive. When he patched in, he knew this would happen. It didn’t make it any less disappointing. Another reason they weren’t a good fit. She deserved someone who could take her on the journey full time. That wasn’t him.

  He strode back toward the woman strapped to the wooden cross. “Something came up,” he said when he reached to undo the soft, ineffective cuffs.

  If he stopped now, he could get her back to Earth with some after-care before he sent her on her way. She’d need it. That’d been the deepest he’d taken her. As new as she was, she’d have to process the experience. He’d give her what little he could. Just because he wasn’t a good fit for her didn’t mean he had a free pass from his responsibilities.

  “Huh?” Her husky voice was thick with arousal, and damn if his dick didn’t twitch.

  “Gotta end a little early,” he explained, supporting her weight once he’d gotten her fully released from the cross. Her legs wobbled, and he led her to the tufted sofa he kept in his playroom for this purpose.

  Sitting down first, he pulled her into his lap. She rested her head on his shoulders and he wrapped a blanket around them. He may be hot as fuck, but coming down from sub space was an experience, and he wanted her warm and content.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his neck.

  “Don’t be, Alice,” he reassured her as he stroked her spine with the tips of his fingers. “You’re new and learning your likes and dislikes. You can’t expect to be into everything or tolerate everything.”

  He might as well lay the groundwork for the talk he’d have in the coming days. He wouldn’t have it now. She wasn’t in the right head space. If he were to tell her right then that this was their last scene, it could be enough to shame her into the closet. No one deserved to be in the closet. No, the conversation where he ended their little game would have to be when she was on better emotional footing.

  He may be a sadist, but he wasn’t a dickhead. Contrary to popular belief, they weren’t the same thing. He understood emotions and people. Hell, he had emotions too. He just liked to play harder than most. He knew that. He accepted that. She wasn’t ready to play as hard as he did. One day, maybe, but he doubted it.

  As a dominant, his responsibility was to see to his submissive’s needs. He had to make the calls she wasn’t able to make. He had to have the foresight to see things she may not want or be able to see. He saw her desire to be pleasing. It didn’t negate that she did things she didn’t enjoy because she believed it was what he wanted. It showed little understanding of the true dynamics between a dominant and submissive.

  That was not the type of woman he could play with. He wanted his play partners to enjoy what he did. This one did not.

  Such a shame. She was a pretty little thing. Nice too, and God, what an ass. Fuck, that ass was almost enough to forget she wasn’t into it. Almost, but not enough. Even a good ass wasn’t enough to counter that they weren’t a good fit. Even getting along on a personal level didn’t make his kink negotiable.

  Chapter 2

  Elizabeth “Liz” Martin

  3 Months ago

  Purse in her lap, sensible black pumps, pencil skirt, and modest geometric print blouse—Liz looked the part of the responsible professional adult. She even pulled her fiery copper tresses into a tight French twist—which could be the source of her headache. Either that or the stress…or the fact she hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  Okay, so there were a multitude of reasons for her throbbing head. She tried to ignore it while she did her best not to fidget, sitting there waiting for her lawyer to tell her whether the prosecutor would pursue charges against her.

  It looked bad. Now that she’d had the time to process, it made sense to assume she’d been involved, but she wasn’t. She’d never take advantage of those she’d been hired to care for. Only sick, twisted fucks did shit like that.

  Sick fucks like Richard.

  There were a million and nine red flags in the beginning, but she’d ignored them. She’d been far too eager, and now she might have to pay for it.

  Crossing, uncrossing, and crossing her legs again, she chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, trying to manage her nerves. Her right leg shook, her foot bobbling with her loose ankle. She couldn’t stop it. She needed to do something with this energy. She glanced over her shoulder at the door again. Where was he? Her lawyer brought her in here ages ago.

  Checking her phone, it had to have been an hour since he’d left her here. No. Ten minutes. Letting out a heavy sigh, she uncrossed her legs again and leaned over her thighs. He’d suggested she wait at home for his call. No. She needed to be there, in person, to hear his voice, see his expression when he told her the news. So, here she was, waiting for her fate. Was she going to trial? Was she going to be charged for a crime she hadn’t committed?

  She’d most definitely lose her job. They’d already put her on s
uspension pending the outcome. Honestly, she couldn’t concentrate anyway. If they hadn’t, she would’ve been useless. Though, this without pay bullshit was really eating into her savings. She couldn’t do this much longer and afford the lawyer.

  Fucking Richard.

  Her lawyer argued Liz was just as much Richard’s victim as the three clients he’d originally targeted. If this went to trial, yes—yes, she would be. Her personal life would be broadcast for all to see.

  The thought had her head in her hands. She could just imagine the questions if they forced her to testify.

  “Ms. Martin, please tell the court just how Mr. Stanton had access to your work files if you were practicing all proper confidentiality protocols?”

  “Well, you see, he had me tied up and blindfolded.”

  The heat of embarrassment blossomed in her chest and flourished up into her cheeks as she thought of having to admit to all the kinky, vulnerable situations she willingly put herself in that allowed Richard access to everything she had. Her parents would be there to support her of course. She’d be forced to come out of her kinky closet.

  She’d never be able to work again, at least not in her chosen field. If she had a felony conviction, she’d have to find a new career. No one could hire her. This was her calling.

  All because she was a kinky idiot. A stupid woman who trusted someone her gut told her wasn’t trustworthy. She’d been so goddamn desperate to try rope, to be with someone who knew what they were doing, that she disregarded her instincts.