by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 1
Blurb: When Nash Mage sees an innocent vanilla virgin in Floggers' charity auction , it's game on.
Nash leaned casually against the wrought iron railing beside the entrance to The Floggers’ Club. With rising disgust, he watched the retreating back of the disgruntled sub. His hand ached. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, and then stared at the red mark across the palm, an indentation from the flogger handle. Damn, he would have to remember to wear his gloves next time. He lifted his chin and gazed at the sub limping away in the distance. What is wrong with me?
Lately, no one could keep his interest. He missed Damien. Fuck, the man had left him cold, no note, no fucking reason. Nash sucked in a freezing breath. He needed new blood. One with trusting eyes and that smooth, porcelain skin that deserved to carry his marks.
Steam billowed from the drains in the gutter, in spasmodic, white clouds. It would be a white Christmas this year. The weather bureau forecast snow for the entire holidays. Nash took the toothpick from his mouth and flicked it into the road. Fuck, he needed a cigarette. Just one drag would sooth the craziness. Hell, he prided himself on his control. Nash snorted and turned to his friend. “His nose is out of joint because I didn’t want to fuck the weasel.” He rubbed his hands together.” I hate it when they beg for cock. If I’d had a smoke I’d have ground it out on his balls.”
“Giving up smoking is a bitch.” Rafe Connell pushed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He stared after the sub and grimaced. “And that bitch will be telling everyone you’re an edge player.”
With a shrug, Nash stared at the gray piles of snow banked up at the curb. He lifted his chin, met Rafe’s hazel eyes, and smiled. “I beat the crap out of the little do-me queen. Bitch thought he could Dominate me—fat chance.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Maybe I am taking it to the edge. I’m looking for the same thrill I got from Damien. What I need is a sweet sub who appreciates my skill.” He sighed. “I gave that whining bastard what he asked for and more, but no way was I going to fuck him.”
“It was consensual. That house sub wasn’t an innocent; he should have expected a good flogging with your reputation.” Rafe slapped Nash on the back. “It’s freezing out here. Come downstairs, and I’ll buy you a drink.”
At the bottom of the steps, the comforting scent of wax and leather, laced with the enticing aroma of musky, male sweat, wafted over Nash. The owner of the club, Rio Knight, met them at the VIP section of the polished mahogany bar. Nash shrugged out of his long, leather coat and threw it to a house sub. He met Rio’s disgruntled gaze. “I’m not banned again, am I? Not when Rafe has just returned from overseas—we have some serious ass to claim.”
“Four house subs have fled in a week, Nash. At this rate, we’ll need to put adds in the newspapers for replacements.” Rio balled his fists on his hips. “I think it’s time you put a collar on your own sub.”
Nash took a toothpick from a jar on the bar and pushed it between his lips. He straightened his shoulders and glared at Rio. “Fuck, that’s worse than getting married.
I’ll flog and fuck who I chose when I chose.”
Nash’s face. He glared. “But keep your hands off the subs for the auction.”
With a grin, Nash met his gaze. Rio intimidated most members of Floggers but not him or Rafe. “I hope you’ve got some pretty boys this year.” He grimaced. “I’m getting bored with the ugly ass around here.”
“I put a notice up in Handcuffs and Whips two weeks ago.” Rio gave him a slow smile. “I’m looking for a new sub too. There’s a group giving us the once over tonight.”
He turned to go. “Try not to spoil Christmas again this year.”
With a sigh, Nash removed the toothpick and stabbed it into the ashtray. He reached for the bottle of bourbon on the bar and poured himself a drink. He threw it back and poured another. Yeah, yeah rave on. He turned to speak to Rafe. His friend was staring at a delicious sub, who was dancing slowly, obviously lost in a world of his own. He nudged his friend. “Nice but unobtainable.”
“I’m working on it.” Rafe turned back to the bar. “Fresh meat at two o’clock.”
Nash ran his gaze over the group of four men removing their coats in the foyer. Three were definitely subs—cropped hair and wearing plenty of metal. The group moved into the bar and paused as if undecided where to go. Nash’s gaze slid over the fourth man—young, barely legal, with a slight build—just the way he liked his subs. Brown hair with gold highlights curled around a cherubic face. A long, gold earring hung from one ear. Damn, the man had big, brown eyes and those long, Dominate me lashes. Nash whistled. “It must be Christmas. My sac’s full, and I just found Santa’s little helper.”
Turning around, Nash leaned his elbows on the bar to get a better view. The group moved to a table beside the dance floor. The sweet sub wore jeans low on his hips. He snorted. To wear jeans in Floggers was almost heresy. Two buttons undone at the fly showed the top of the man’s white boxers and a flat, smooth, hairless stomach.
Nice. “The young one is mine.”
The man’s black leather vest hung open to display an expanse of honey skin pulled tight over muscle. As the newcomer moved, Nash caught sight of his delicious, flat, bitable nipples. Nash groaned. His cock ached. I’ll fuck you till you scream. The man had that smooth, silken, tanned skin that drove Nash crazy. He wore no metal, no rings, nothing but the gold sparkling in his ear. The sub glanced around furtively. An innocent. Nash’s mouth watered. “I think just I blew in my fucking pants.”
With a snort, Nash pushed away from the bar and stared intently at the young man across the room. “That’s the idea.”
by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 2
Everything is going well for badass Dom, Nash Mage, and his sweet sub, Paul, until Nash does a favor for Rio, the owner of Floggers’ BDSM Club.
Expecting Paul to trust him implicitly, Nash’s world falls apart when he finds his confused, innocent sub in the arms of his nemesis, Frank. Teetering on the edge of sanity and out of control, Nash is looking for revenge.
Nash Mage snuggled against Paul’s back. To think a couple of months ago, he would never have contemplated the idea of spooning a sub. He slipped his heavy shaft between Paul’s legs and buried his face in the soft skin of the man’s neck. He loved his sub’s scent, especially after a night of hard sex. He kissed his neck and licked a path to his ear, suckled the ear lobe. God, he could not get enough of the taste of Paul or of fucking his sweet, innocent sub until the man screamed out Nash’s name in ecstasy.
Running his hand down Paul’s arm, he reveled at the touch of his lover’s smooth skin against his palm. He cupped Paul’s small, muscular buttock and smiled. The sub’s ass carried the marks of his whip. His lover’s moans of delight still rang in his ears. Nash rolled away, took a conDom from the bedside table, and slipped it on. He put on his stern Dom face and rolled Paul onto his back. He pushed between the man’s legs, and took a firm grasp of both his sub’s nipple rings. “Wake up, slave.”
“You’re insatiable . . . Master.” Paul yawned and opened his eyes. “My ass is still tingling from our session at Floggers.” His mouth curled up at the corners. “You hurt me real good.”
“Lift your legs. I want to see your ass.” Nash rolled back on his knees. Taking Paul’s ankles, he pushed the man’s legs up to chest. “Higher . . . yeah, like that . . . . there’s a good boy. Now, that’s a sweet sight. Hold onto your knees, I wanna lick that cute ass all over.”
Nash gazed down at Paul’s tight star, still glossy with lube. The sight of his sweet sub, legs up and helpless, in the swing at Floggers flashed into his mind. Fuck, all that prime ass just hanging there waiting for his attention. Oh yeah, that image would keep him hard for a fucking week. He bent to lick the deep, red lines covering his sub’s smooth skin. His balls ached with the desperate desire to fill Paul. He pressed one last kiss on his sub’s balls, and then drew away. With a growl, he met Paul’s smoldering gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you, Nash . . . fuck me ‘til I scream.”
“I think you need some manners, slave.” With one hard thrust of his hips, Nash sank to the balls inside Paul’s slippery hole. He gazed into Paul’s startled expression. “We’re going back to Floggers tonight, so I can continue your education.”
* * * * *
Paul gasped. His ass exploded into ecstasy. The studs on Nash’s cock grazed across his pleasure spot, making him cry out with the intensity. Hell, he craved Nash’s touch. His Master knew exactly what he needed and drove into him hard without mercy. The bond between them had grown into more than Master and slave. Paul loved Nash with a passion that frightened him. The man was complicated; he lived on the edge and carried a history of broken trust. Paul moaned and gazed into Nash’s midnight eyes. When his Master fucked him, the delicious man turned into a mythical god. All tense muscle and golden skin, long, silken, black hair framing his handsome face . . . the passion in the man’s eyes alone could bring Paul to climax. He could trust Nash with his body, why did he have trouble trusting him with his heart?
* * * * *
Nash lowered Paul’s legs and lay on his sub’s damp body. In the last couple of minutes, Paul’s demeanor had changed. Rocking his hips slowly, Nash bent to kiss his lover. Paul’s passionate response melted his heart. The first buzz of lust that hit him the day they met in Floggers had moved up to a new level. For the first time in his life, he considered making this a permanent relationship. Yeah, badass Dom, Nash Mage, needed this man in his life—go figure. He wanted Paul to feel the same way about him, but he had his doubts. This had not been the first time he’d noticed Paul’s sudden withdrawal during sex. Maybe Paul had tired of him and wanted to move on. The thought of anyone else touching his virgin made his blood boil. They needed to talk, but first, he would satisfy his lusty sub. Brushing a damp curl from Paul’s cheek, he met his sub’s gaze. “You okay . . . not too sore? I know I’ve been riding you all night.”
“I can never have enough of you.” Paul lifted his chin. “Ride me to hell, Master.”
Nash ran his hands down Paul’s delicious, smooth body, cupped his sub’s delectable ass, and drove in deep. So hot and so tight. Hell yeah, sex had always been this good with Paul; his little virgin knew how to please. His sweet sub’s lashes dropped over his beautiful, brown eyes. Fuck, he could see the man’s soul in those chocolate depths. His balls grew hot. When Paul made that small sound of delight and sprayed his belly with white strings of hot cum, Nash joined him, falling over the edge with head spinning pleasure.
by H.C. Brown
Club Floggers Book 3
Seth Bannock is living a lie. Nothing in his life is working out. He likes women . . . he respects women . . . but when he tries to kiss a woman and she does that tongue thing, he wants to spew.
Confused by his body’s reaction to the men at his gym, Seth seeks help from the only gay club he knows—Floggers. Is the man crazy? Seeking answers, the innocent, vanilla virgin marches into the BDSM club to speak to the owner Rio Knight.
Realization that he has been on the wrong team all his life comes in the form of a six-foot-seven Adonis by the name of Matt Duffey. Instantly attracted to the leather-clad alpha male, Seth must leave his old life behind and embrace his newfound sexuality.
Seth thought his life had complications before he met Matt, but nothing comes close to the rollercoaster ride in the big Dom’s arms.
Seth Bannock stared at the front door. A yellow glow seeped thought the glass panels forming a pool of light at his feet. The street buzzed with the noise of a normal Saturday night. Teenagers spilled out from a loud party two doors up, and moved in small groups along the sidewalk in a constant stream of chatter. Cars spun their wheels and, horns blasting with young men hanging out of the windows, roared up the road.
With a sigh, Seth pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. What had just happened? His friend of the past six months, Rose McCarthy, had given him the finger, sworn colorfully, and slammed the front door in his face. He gazed at her neat two-story brick house, his mind frazzled. Okay, so he had tried to kiss her, he wanted to be nice, and she had asked him for the kiss—no, she’d pleaded for it. It wasn’t his fucking idea. In truth, he had no inclination to kiss anyone. Perhaps he could have handled a straight kiss, but then the woman stuck her tongue into his mouth. She tasted like stale beer, and he nearly spewed his guts out. Christ, she’d gone feral, insisting he wasn’t normal, that he kissed like a girl. How the fuck, did she know how girls kissed anyway?
He had—had being the operative word here—liked Rose. He’d met her at his gym. True, he appreciated her slim body, enjoyed their long chats, and her companionship. The trouble with Rose and all the other women he had dated over the past three years was moving beyond being friends. Not that he wanted to, but he always made things worse by rejecting their advances. He happened to prefer being friends. He liked women, well, at least until they did that thing with their eyes and expected him to fondle their tits. Hell, he even enjoyed going to the mall with them—but kissing them and the tongue thing—fuck, it made him uncomfortable. The eventuality of finding the right girl had become a personal nightmare.
Normal men like women to touch them—you move away. Do you look at girlie magazines to jerk off? Or are you thinking about the hot jocks sweating at the gym? The worse thing was, he hadn’t given her a reply—he had no excuse. In fact, he had never bought a girlie magazine in his life.
The look of disgust on her face burned into his mind, to join the list of other horror-date memories. Matt turned away from the house and walked to his car. The woman had a point. He had never dated during high school or college, keeping to himself or hanging out with the other jocks. In truth, he liked the smell of men, the gloss of sweat on hard muscle, damp hair curling on a broad, muscular neck. To admit this even to himself—fuck! His head throbbed with the implication.
Swinging into his car, Seth thought over the strange messages his body gave him whenever, he noticed men looking at him in that way. It happened all the time at the gym. As a personal trainer, he had clients of both sexes and kept things on a very professional level, but a couple of guys had brushed his leg and given him the look. His stomach had clenched as if in anticipation; his heart rate had quickened. Why? The thought of sliding his hands over a man’s hot, sweaty body did not repel him. Should it? Who would know? Hell, he couldn’t just walk up to someone and ask a question like that, he valued his teeth too much. What should he do? He had to discuss his problem with someone who would not laugh at him. I gotta know if watching two men together turns me on . . . yeah . . . I’ll pick up a couple of pornos. If the movies turn me on, I’ll need to discuss my problem with someone. I’ll go online, and do a search; there must be someone in this town I can speak to.