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He wears a suit, but he is not entirely civilized.  There's a feral beast inside that is often hungry for something he'll probably never find. The new submissive flirting with him and his friends  at Club Duval  is in way over her head. Or is it the other way around? 

This is book one in the Unmatched Series.  It is part of the Love Has No Regrets Collection of books that includes, The Polished Series and Make Me. 

Enjoy the free excerpt below!

It might have been the most opulent prison on the planet. Samantha took stock of the room. The décor teetered on the edge of pretentious. The millwork frames lining the walls were upholstered in silk the shade of rose quartz. The balance of wall space was painted a cool taupe that flirted with being called gray. The carpeted floor was the softest she’d ever felt, and she guessed that it too included the softest fiber known to earth. It was the bed that really took her breath away. To start, a canopy, simple in its structure, but made elaborate with trimmings of all kinds draped around the lacquered white posts like a robe meant for royalty. The headboard stood at over five feet, nearly as tall as she. When the light hit it just right, the most subtle lace pattern appeared etched in the glossy finish. Each piece of art was a study in serenity. Paintings of abstracted land and seascapes hinted of relaxation and empty to-do lists. No television, no radio. It was a room made for a woman meant to forget the outside world.

There was a landline connected only to the housekeeper, no matter which number she dialed, and a framed calligraphy message next to it that read “No one here does your bidding.” She supposed the message was meant to be a warning. After what Oleg had said, she took it as a challenge.

Samantha stared at the exposed trusses radiating above her from the center of the conical roof. They were ashen with age, rough and ancient looking, in romantic contrast with the posh décor. A crisscross support dissecting the diameter of the circular turret design existed beneath the more intricate framework. Halfway along the intersecting beam, a mechanical steel pulley was mounted above a clear area near the bathroom. The industrial nature of it stood out conspicuously in the otherwise well-appointed room.

She sat up in bed. Three knocks at her door were the epitome of irony, as if she had the power to refuse entry of whoever was on the other side. “Who is it?” she asked, and the door opened without a word uttered.

“I understand you’ve had quite the first day of school,” Henri said. She eyed him first, his fitted black suit and pale blue shirt, and then noticed the garment bag in his hand as he stepped into the room.

“It was, until Oleg locked me in here by myself.”
Henri’s mischievous gaze danced over her skin. She was immediately reenergized. “You don’t like to be alone, chérie?”

“No, I don’t.”

He nodded his understanding, yet there was no empathy in his expression. He understood what she had said, and she suspected the knowledge would be used against her at some point.

In a perfunctory move, Henri opened the closet door to his left and placed the bag inside. Then he turned back to her. “I see that you have not yet learned how to greet your Masters when we arrive at your door.” He pointed a finger at her and directed her lower. She understood this to mean that she should kneel, which she did, but not without a word in her defense.

“How can I know it’s one of you at the door? It could be Marjorie.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry, yes?”

Now that was where he was wrong. Samantha slowly shook her head.

Henri smiled. “Non? You disagree?” The finger he’d wielded in explicit direction now grazed softly over her cheek. Then his hand was on top of her head, pushing her even lower until that same cheek was acquainted with the hardwood floor. She remained in a sinuous heap, her body folded into an S at his feet. He was rising up again when she instinctively reached for his ankles, holding on, her forearms draped over his expensive designer shoes. It seemed to surprise him, and the way he flinched surprised her as well.

“That is not how it is done, sub,” he said on a growl. His hand moved swiftly through the air above her and landed on the roundest part of her upturned ass. Her grip on him tightened involuntarily upon impact, and as the pain of his heavy hand radiated outward, she slowly relaxed again. It should have been humiliating and not exhilarating, but it stung so good, like the burn of silk on her skin when she was learning a new aerial move. The sting told her she was getting closer to the best part, the part when she’d master what once seemed impossible. Samantha knew that she’d learn his rules, even if she’d have to make some new ones along the way.

“Yes, Master,” she said and began to withdraw her hands. He remained crouched in front of her and stilled her wrist. “We’re not finished,” he said.

She regained purchase on him, wrapping her fingers around as much of his ankle as she could. Five more fierce swats, and he seemed satisfied. No, that was most certainly the wrong word. Five more swats, and he seemed as turned on as she was.

He stood up then and smoothed his pants. His alabaster skin was a bit flushed, and though he turned away from her, she didn’t miss the way he adjusted himself. “I expect to find you in that position every time I enter this room. Understand?”

“Yes,” she said. She most certainly did.

“Fine,” he said and left.

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