My Wicked Princess: Club Wicked LA, #1

By Ann Mayburn

 Tyler has devoted his life to protecting people, first as a police officer and now as the head of Club Wicked's security. So when the beautiful Nora needs his help, he comes to her rescue. His interest in her is further piqued when he finds out sweet, shy, and funny Nora has a guest application pending at Club Wicked. But when he reads her background check, he realizes his princess has been badly hurt, and will need a caring Daddy to help her heal.

 

 After enduring two years of constant mental abuse from her ex-boyfriend/Dom, Nora finally flees her hometown in Oklahoma for the sunny beaches of southern California. She hopes to start a new life, one free of dread and anxiety; but it seems her past just won't let go. Her relationship fears make it impossible for her to see strange men as anything other than a threat, so she avoids dating like the plague. Until she meets Tyler. He's the Daddy every princess dreams of, and Nora soon finds herself wondering why such an amazing man would want a damaged woman like herself.

 

 Tyler will have to convince Nora to trust him before it's too late, or risk losing his princess to her demons forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Mayburn
• Release date: Feb 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393914051

Ann Mayburn

Ann is Queen of the Castle to her wonderful husband and three sons in the mountains of West Virginia. In her past lives she's been an Import Broker, a Communications Specialist, a US Navy Civilian Contractor, a Bartender/Waitress, and an actor at the Michigan Renaissance Festival. She also spent a summer touring with the Grateful Dead-though she will deny to her children that it ever happened.From a young age she's been fascinated by myths and fairytales, and the romance that often was the center of the story. As Ann grew older and her hormones kicked in, she discovered trashy romance novels. Great at first, but she soon grew tired of the endless stories with a big wonderful emotional buildup to really short and crappy sex. Never a big fan of purple prose, throbbing spears of fleshy pleasure and wet honey pots make her giggle, she sought out books that gave the sex scenes in the story just as much detail and plot as everything else-without using cringe worthy euphemisms. This led her to the wonderful world of Erotic Romance, and she's never looked back.Now Ann spends her days trying to tune out cartoons playing in the background to get into her 'sexy space' and has learned to type one handed while soothing a cranky baby.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tyler

Warm ocean water splashed along my legs as I straddled my board, content for a moment to ride the gentle swells and watch the sunrise over LA in the distance. Gold, indigo purple, and flaming pink streaked across the clouds in a sky that seemed to stretch on forever. The saltwater air cleansed me from the inside out as I took a moment to admire the show God was putting on overhead. A sense of serenity and peace overcame me, washing away my stress with each curling wave.

This—this was why I worked so hard, why I spent most of my life busting my ass to be able to afford to live in Manhattan Beach on the southern California coast. I loved this stretch of land, loved the neighborhood that I’d grown up in adjacent to it, loved my community and my family. There wasn’t anywhere else on earth I wanted to be, and I counted myself lucky to be one of the few people able to say that.

Although a few early morning surfers and beach walkers shared the area, I felt truly alone in the moment. The amber sunlight made the water around me glitter like a million gold coins. Leaning forward, I stretched out my shoulders, conscious of the time slipping away. Mondays were always busy, and I had to head into work early to go over the security upgrades at Club Wicked. Technology was changing by the second, and it was one of my jobs as chief of security to make sure we were always on top of any new inventions that might jeopardize the safety and privacy of Club Wicked’s elite guests.

If you’d asked me five years ago if I’d give up my job as a police officer in order to work a private security gig at a BDSM club, I would’ve said you were fucking crazy. But life has a strange way of working out, so when my childhood friend—now a famous movie star and a member of Club Wicked’s board—asked me to consider a position as one of their heads of security, I took it. I was tired of the murder, the crime, the vileness of humanity that I had to deal with on a daily basis as a police officer. I was also tired of the unpaid overtime, the random hatred that I’d encounter from the public, and the increasing wear and tear on my mind and body.

I’d needed a break from the real world, and Club Wicked had provided all that and more.

The watch on my wrist vibrated, letting me know that the precious hour of time I got to spend surfing was up. I caught the next swell in, riding it as smooth and easy as can be. I’ve always had an affinity to the water. I’ve been surfing with my dad for as long as I can remember. He passed away a few years ago of cancer, but on days like this, I swore I could still hear him whooping with glee in the crash of the waves.

Hauling my board out of the water, I let out a deep sigh as the weight of the world seemed to return to my shoulders. There was always an almost endless list of things to do at work. One would think that doing private security wouldn’t be so high pressure, but they didn’t know Club Wicked. When I say Wicked is a BDSM club, I don’t mean one of those dark, seedy, cement room places with a few pieces of BDSM gear placed in the corners. No, Club Wicked was…something else. Once I’d heard someone refer to it as the Taj Mahal of BDSM clubs, and I didn’t disagree.

The Mediterranean style mega mansion had been built deep in the hills north of Hollywood in the 1930s by the founders of the club. Located on thirty acres, it was surrounded by private homes and just about as secure as any place in the world can be these days. Keeping the property and the people inside both safe and protected from the prying eyes of the media wasn’t easy, but it was essential. Most of the members of the club valued their privacy more than anything, and we did our best to make sure it was never violated. Movie stars, politicians, business moguls, mega preachers, crime lords and trust fund babies—we had them all and more. The member list offered a veritable treasure trove of blackmail material for the enterprising criminal.

The sand crunched under my feet as I stretched out, my almost forty-year-old body needing a little more care than it had twenty years ago.

After a quick dry off, I grabbed my red and gold surfboard and began the familiar trek to the public showers near the parking lot, wishing once again there’d be someone waiting for me at home other than my cats. Not that my cats weren’t good company. Tia was a love bug and just about the best damn cat alive, and Mia was always ready for a cuddle—but it would be nice to have a bed filled with a warm, sleeping, willing woman. One that would smile at me and welcome me with open arms, not caring that I was salty from the sea.

I’m not saying that I lacked in female company, but I was old enough now to want more than a quick release, a thank you, and a goodbye.

I wanted someone permanent. I wanted someone to wear my collar. Someone I could own, someone I could love, someone I could spoil and cherish. The kind of woman that would enjoy me being bossy both in and out of the bedroom. A woman who wouldn’t find me overbearing and smothering, but who would rather blossom and grow beneath my attention. She would have enough fire and sass to stand up to me when she needed to, and that would make her submission all the sweeter. A loving-to-the-core princess who would fill my life with giggles and soft, feminine sighs.

My flip flops smacked as they hit the concrete sidewalk that ran the length of the beach in either direction. There were a few early morning joggers out, so I gave a familiar pair of runners a chin lift as they puffed by and waved. Having both grown up and spent most of my time as a police officer patrolling this suburb west of LA, I was familiar with a lot of the regulars. A warm wind from the direction of the city blew my hair back with the heat of an open oven as the clear skies promised another hot day.

After rinsing myself and my gear off at the outdoor shower, I was getting ready to put my shirt on when a slender feminine hand grabbed my own from behind in a surprisingly tight grip.

Oh, honey, there you are! a woman’s voice said in an unusually high, frightened tone that set my cop radar buzzing. I’ve been looking all over for you.

Turning, I found myself looking down into the face of a slender woman with deep honey brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her face was a little unusual, her chin narrower than most women’s, giving her an almost foxlike look that went well with her strong cheekbones. She barely came up to my shoulders and her hazel green eyes glittered with starbursts of brown surrounding the pupil. Big eyes that were filled with worry. Sweat beaded her forehead, and her pink and blue tank top was damp as well, but it was the desperate look that she gave me that had me instinctively pulling her closer.

Relief had her nearly sagging into me as I put my arm around her shoulder and said loudly, Hey, babe. You ready to go?

Yep, done with my run. She looked behind her, and I followed her gaze to a big man wearing black jogging clothes watching us with a frown I didn’t like. It was a little crowded today, but I’m ready to go.

Let me grab my board, I said. I kept my eyes on the guy—he slowly backed away from us before he turned and jogged back the direction they’d come from.

Once he’d disappeared behind a stand of palm trees further down the winding path, the woman next to me began to shake hard enough that I led her over to a cement bench near the showers and sat down with her. Hey, are you okay?

Yeah, she said in a teary voice, giving me an embarrassed smile as she scrubbed her red cheeks. I’m so sorry for bothering you. Thank you. You must think I’m a crazy woman.

The wind whipped her ponytail behind her, and I noticed for the first time that she had a small but elaborate floral tattoo on her right shoulder. Out of years of habit built in the police force, I gave her a quick scan from head to toe. She was slender but toned, and she wasn’t wearing any jewelry—including no wedding ring. Her shoulders had a light smattering of freckles, and the familiar scent of coconut sunblock came from her skin. Her floral jogging pants fit a pair of well-toned legs, and her left thigh had a slight bulge from what I guessed was her phone. A pair of hot pink headphones with little kittens painted on the buds hung from around her flushed neck.

At first, I thought she was in her early twenties, but as I looked closer, I realized she was closer to twenty-six, maybe older, based on the faint lines around her expressive eyes. She was just one of those women who looked younger than they were, the opposite of me. My time in the police force had aged me and spending every free moment of my life surfing beneath the glaring California sun had done my skin no favors. Though I wasn’t quite forty yet, I’d had people guess my age anywhere from forty-five to fifty.

Her hazel eyes met mine, the fear back in them, and my heart gave a little lurch that had me clearing my throat. You sure you’re all right? Did that man threaten you?

She bit then released her lower lip and shook her head. No, I’m probably just over-reacting but…he started following me a few miles back. I didn’t think anything about it, but he kept getting closer and closer to me. I moved, so he could pass, but he didn’t. He just stayed right behind me. No matter if I slowed down or sped up, he kept pace with me. Like my shadow. He didn’t say anything, but every time I looked over my shoulder, he watched me in a way that made me feel…afraid. Her voice grew thin with dread as she whispered, I think he liked that I was scared of him.

Why didn’t you call the police?

And tell them what? A guy was jogging too close to me? She knotted her hands together in her lap so hard her knuckles turned white and her shoulders hunched inward. Plus, the battery in my phone is dead. I forgot to charge it, as usual. Sometimes I can be so stupid. If I had been more careful, none of this would have happened.

I hated the defeated slump to her shoulders and how hard she was being on herself. Hey, it’s no big deal. I forget to charge my phone all the time. My best friend says I subconsciously do it on purpose, so I won’t have to talk to people. It’s not the end of the world.

Her pale cheeks flushed. She took in a deep, shaky breath as she gave me an embarrassed grimace. I’m sorry, I’m probably overreacting. I have…issues with an ex-boyfriend that have made me a little paranoid. God, that makes me sound even more crazy. Look, it was probably nothing. I’m sorry. And, again, thank you for playing along. I was about to go into a store and see if he followed me, but nothing was open and then I saw you. And you’re so big and scary looking, I knew that if I made it to you, I’d be safe… Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red, all the way up to her ears. I’m trying to say that you look like the kind of guy who could keep anyone safe. There’s just this…feeling about you. Her breathing started to pick up again and she mumbled as she said, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—

I placed my much bigger hand atop her small ones, stilling her worrying fingers. I needed her to calm down, to help her deal with the adrenaline crash that was no doubt scrambling her brain. Some people got into dangerous situations and were fine afterward; some people got into dangerous situations and their body would dump enormous amounts of adrenaline into their system, causing a type of shock. During my years with the police, I’d dealt with many people who’d survived a trauma and became adept at talking them down.

In my most soothing voice, the one that made the submissives at Club Wicked swoon, I said, Easy. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. What’s your name?

My deep, calm voice had its intended effect, and she took a deep breath before saying, Nora.

Nora, I said back, memorizing it. My name’s Tyler. Nice to meet you.

She gave a shaky laugh, but some of the tremors that had been running through her eased. I gave her back a good rub, trying not to notice the delicate, but strong feminine muscles of her back. I was more concerned about the way her heart still pounded fast. I could feel it thumping against my hand. Her trembling started again, and she made a soft—so soft it was almost lost in the crash of the waves—whimper that broke my heart.

I needed to distract her, so I said, Wanna see my shark bite?

She blinked at me with watery eyes once, then twice, like a baby owl before saying, What?

Back when I was seventeen, I was surfing out in Hawaii with my dad. It was fantastic, best surfing of my life, right up until a shark decided to try to take a chunk out of my thigh.

Instantly, her gaze went down to my legs as she said, Oh my gracious, are you okay?

I pulled up the still wet edge of my board shorts, revealing my upper thigh to her with its tiny, maybe five-inch circumference, bite. See, right there.

Leaning closer, her hair fell over her shoulder as she examined where I pointed, the scent of her making my dick twitch as I willed the fucker to stand down.

That’s a shark bite? she asked, her light brown brows lifted high in disbelief, creating wrinkles on her forehead.

I didn’t say I was bit by an adult shark, I said with a grin, pulling my shorts back over my thigh.

Her hands flew to her mouth as she began to giggle. You got bit by a baby shark.

Yep, I said and gave her a melodramatic and sad look. And my mom still has pictures of it. Little fucker wouldn’t let go, and we had to get the lifeguard to pry it off. I was quite the local celebrity for the rest of our vacation.

For getting bit by a shark the size of a kitten?

Laughing, I shook my head. You know what the worst part is?

No, what?

My nephew has recently become a big, big fan of that stupid baby shark song, thanks to my nefarious sister. Except she changed the words so it’s a song about Uncle Tyler getting bit by a baby shark. I stared in the direction of her house fifteen miles away, as if I could see her now. She even taught her kids a dance for the song that reenacts my shark bite.

Nora burst out laughing, all traces of fear gone, and she was gorgeous in an all-American, girl next doorway in the rising California sun. That’s terrible! I know that song all too well. I have a niece and a nephew who are two and four. My brother swears the two-year-old learned how to use the tablet just so he could play that song.

The breeze from the ocean pushed at our backs, drying the lingering water from my shower, and cooling my skin. Do you live around here?

She looked around as if noticing where we were for the first time, her pretty bowed lips turning down into a frown. No. God, how far did I run? I just moved here a few months ago, so I’m still learning the area. Where am I?

Manhattan Beach.

Shoot, I didn’t mean to run this far north. She groaned. I’m staying south of here in Rancho PV and my phone is dead. Can I borrow yours so I can call my roommate for a ride?

I would, but I don’t have my phone with me. I don’t bring it with me on my morning surf. It’s the one time of the day when I can be by myself. At her worried look, I quickly added, But my house isn’t that far away. Only three blocks. We can go there, and I can get changed then give you a lift back. I have to head into work soon anyway.

Are you sure? I don’t want to make you late for work or disturb your family.

You’re fine. I don’t have a set time I need to be at work, and it’s just me and my cats. Trust me, they love company. The more people to spoil them with chin scratches the better.

I’m not sure… She chewed her lip for a moment. No offense, but I don’t know you.

Understandable. I pointed to the roof of the showers. See that? It’s a camera linked to the police department. They have them all over the place. As we walk back to my house, we’ll pass some businesses with cameras, and people’s homes with cameras on their front doors. I’d have to be a pretty dumb murderer to abduct you knowing your every move is recorded and will lead directly to my house. You know, aside from the fact that I’m not a serial killer.

Huh, I didn’t think of it that way. Relief filled her expressive little face, and I started to worry about the strength of my reaction to her. Thank you, thank you so much. I’ll pay you back for the gas—

Standing, I laughed and offered her a hand up, strangely gratified when she took it. Don’t worry about it. If you want to help, you can carry my towel for me while I carry my board.

She giggled, and two deep dimples popped out in her cheeks. Damn, she was too adorable for words. My dick stirred in interest, but I willed that fucker to relax. So what if physically she hit all my like buttons, not to mention the fact that I’ve always loved dimples? She was a scared woman at least ten years younger than me looking for help, not someone I was on a date with.

But that didn’t stop the burning need in my gut to know more about this intriguing woman.

You mentioned you have to head to work, she said as we walked up the hill along the coast toward the homes past the shopping district. What do you do?

Private security, I replied. As we passed beneath a towering palm tree, the shadows played across her face. What about you? Where are you from? You have a hint of an accent that isn’t local.

I’m originally from Oklahoma, she said with an irresistible bright smile.

What brought you out here?

Her smile faded, and she looked away. Oh, I got a great job offer. Plus, my best friend lives out here and she, um, needed a roommate.

I studied her for a moment, and she pretended not to notice my gaze as we crossed the street. Nora was a terrible liar. Her whole body would tense, and her hands balled into little fists as if lying was physically painful for