Make Me Surrender

By Aline Hunter

Not all desires are the same.

Candice Bradshaw has a wretched past that prevents her from envisioning a potential future with a lifelong partner until a man she's tried to forget marches into her life and offers her a chance to explore her desires. Despite the fear of giving over control, the yearning to do so has persisted for years. Even though the delectable man is willing to take the challenge, she's afraid to reveal what her heart desires most.

Brady Stone is a man riding the edge. One night with Candice wasn't nearly enough. He knows she's been hurt in the past, but he's eager to teach her how good it can be between them. He's not who she thinks he is, capable of giving her what she's denied herself for years. With time and patience, he intends to show her there is no danger in venturing into the unknown.

Due to an agreement, he's been handed the reins to prove he's not like the others. He wants all of her, body and soul, and will not let her go until he shows her just how rewarding surrender can be.

This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aline Hunter
• Release date: Jun 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005325282

Aline Hunter

Aline Hunter is a multi-published author who has written stories featured in horror magazines, zombie romance anthologies, and flash fiction contests. Her work has a dark undertone, which she credits to her love of old eighties horror films, tastes in music, and choices in reading, and have been described as “full of sensual promise,” “gritty and sexy” and “a breath of fresh air.”Currently she is penning projects within the urban fantasy, erotic and contemporary, and paranormal romance genres.

Book preview

Chapter One

Can you take a minute and actually look? Brady Stone steadied himself, trying to keep his cool as he held the picture in front of the bartender. He was pushing too hard, and he knew it. He shifted back, softening his stance, and studied the female behind the counter, paying close attention to her body language. I shouldn't ask. I know it's against the rules. But I really need to find her. It’s important.

So find her.

Normally, he would have backed away, knowing it was best.

Sadly, this was work. Not pleasure. That's the problem. I can’t.

Then I suggest you find someone else. The woman’s eyes drifted from the picture to his face. When he lowered his head, the bartender said, We have a strict policy. No questions, no answers. She swatted at the picture and leaned close. Go back to observing and step away from the bar. I don’t want to call security. They might mangle that pretty face of yours.

She dismissed him with a wave and strode to a couple. The domme was older, in her forties. She held the leash attached to the D-ring on her companion’s thick leather collar. Decked out in vinyl with a built-in corset, her enormous breasts threatened to spill from the bustier. The rims of her dark nipples were visible.

Brady studied the man kneeling at his Mistress’s feet.

The sub was in his twenties. He had a thick, dark head of hair. His body was lean yet muscular. He kept his eyes downcast, his hands resting on his thighs. The woman asked the bartender for water, and the man remained in place without shifting position. He appeared perfectly trained for one so young.

Obedient, calm, and collected.

Everything a submissive should be.

Brady considered asking the domme if she'd seen the woman he was searching for. The call he’d received indicated Alyssa McIntyre had been spotted at the club a couple of times. The odds of her making another appearance were slim, but he figured the tip was worth investigating. Unfortunately, none of the regulars—including the woman who’d phoned the anonymous tip and promptly hung up—had been forthcoming.

The bartender shot him a warning glare when he didn’t leave. She meant what she’d said. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be in shit up to his neck. So far, he’d drifted under the radar. It was best to retreat and search for answers elsewhere.

With a weary sigh, he returned the photo to his back pocket. The domme and submissive were in earshot and heard the conversation with the bartender. If they had something to add, they would have. Besides, asking questions could get him in serious trouble. He was off the clock and working on his own time. While he could have dressed in his police uniform instead of jeans, a dress shirt, and black cuffs on his wrists, he’d chosen not to. Someone might have taken him seriously with the uniform. But if they called his department to report him, he’d be in hot water. Aly’s missing person report was filed in Pleasant View, not Memphis.

He was out of jurisdiction.

One wrong step and he could lose his job.

He strode toward the exit, eager to leave. A tall, busty blonde in a red leather corset, fishnets, and knee-high boots blocked his path. On your knees.

Her voice was familiar, but he didn’t have time to place it. Years of putting women on a pedestal and submitting to their desires had him obeying before he could check himself. He did as requested in a fluid motion. As soon as his knees hit the ground, he cursed himself for making the decision to enter the club dressed as a submissive. He’d signed the rules, agreeing to play the part. The establishment expected proper respect to be given to dominants at all times.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t a normal sub.

His wants and needs changed depending on his partner.

Your posture is appalling. Whoever trained you did a poor job. Sit up and place your hands behind your back. The brisk and commanding tone left no room for argument. This was a domme through and through. No games. No bullshit. She expected him to follow her orders to the letter.

Once, he might have found the situation exciting.

Now it left him cold.

Damn you, Candice, he thought with a wave of anger. He did as he was told. His mind drifted, leaving him thinking of the one woman he wanted like hell on fire but could never touch. It wasn’t enough that you left me high and dry. You had to ruin me for every other woman in the world.

Remove your shirt.

Forgive me, Mistress. The weariness in his voice was real, the result of yearning for a woman who treated him like a pest.I’m afraid I can’t.

Are you disobeying me?

No, Mistress. He made certain his tone was respectful, keeping his head bowed, staying in the position she’d instructed. I was about to leave.

Fingers brushed the top of his head. Why would you want to do that?

My Mistress hasn’t arrived. I’m concerned.

The lie came quickly, passing his lips as naturally as his next breath. There was only one woman he wanted, and it wasn’t the domme standing in front of him. His fantasies revolved around a curvaceous imp with blonde curls and shining, sapphire-blue eyes. The woman had ridden him hard, put him up wet, and left him without looking back.

I won’t tolerate being lied to. The fingers in his hair yanked, forcing him to look up. The domme’s blue contacts only made him appreciate Candice’s naturally blue peepers all the more. Submissives arrive with their dominants. You entered alone.

We were supposed to meet here. She instructed me to wait inside.

You’re lying.

Why would I do that? he responded curtly, his control slipping.

His submissive tendencies only went so far.

He allowed women he respected and desired to control him in the bedroom for his own reasons. That was it. As for everything else, he was an alpha male through and through. This haughty bitch—with what he quickly gathered was a blonde wig to go along with her false blue eyes—was starting to piss him off.

Oh, big boy. Her glossy lips formed into a nasty sneer. You’re going to wish you hadn’t looked at me like that. She released his hair, allowing him to bow his head again, and called out, Master Lawrence.

Shit. She was calling in the big guns.

Please, Mistress. He was grateful he could stare at her boots rather than her face. If she saw him glaring at her, she’d go from annoyed to livid. I really should go.

Leather pants and large boots came into Brady’s line of sight. What’s the problem?

I think someone entered without reading the rules, the domme replied.

Is that true? the man above him asked.

For fuck’s sake.

He knew the rules. That was why he didn’t come to The Den. They had a very strict policy when it came to subs. If you entered alone, you were considered fair game. He could safe word, ending the entire fiasco, but in doing so would have his pass scanned and placed into the folder that would ensure he didn't enter the club for six months.

Would that be so bad? Hell no.

The fucking shit heap was about as appealing as a cow patty served on a china plate. Unfortunately, he didn’t know if he’d ever have to return to ask questions about a runaway submissive his friends were desperate to find.

I know the rules.

Show me your wrists, the man ordered.

Resistance was futile. He couldn’t blow his membership.

Even if he wished he could burn it.

Lifting his arms, he revealed the cuffs he’d worn.

The colored bands around them were a death sentence.

When he’d entered the club, he wasn’t concerned about bondage, pain play, and sex. It went with the sub motif and his personal preferences. Besides, he hadn’t intended to stay long. He had expected to get in, ask around about Aly, and leave.

So much for that.

Submissives who enter unaccompanied are available for use by the Masters and Mistresses of our club. If Mistress Regina wants to abide by the limits you’ve set, she’s entitled to.

I need to leave. Although Master Lawrence might not listen, Brady hoped the man would cut him some slack. My Mistress was supposed to meet me here. I've waited almost thirty minutes. I’m worried something might have happened to her.

The man paused, and Regina pounced. "I saw him come in alone. He went to a booth in the back, waited for fifteen minutes, and went to the bar. He didn’t act concerned. He definitely didn’t look like he was waiting for someone."

Is that true? Lawrence questioned.

How in the hell did he answer? Yes, he’d entered alone. He’d also taken a seat in a booth before he mustered up the courage to visit the bar. The rest was something he pulled out of his ass in an effort to prevent a disaster.

It’s true I entered alone and sat in a back booth to wait. When my Mistress didn’t arrive, I went to the bar and asked the bartender if she’d seen her. She told me to leave, which was what I was trying to do.

Does your Mistress normally allow you to enter dungeons without a collar? Lawrence’s question sounded like a nail in a coffin.

It was a solid point, something Brady thought about when he was an hour and a half away from Pleasant View. By that time, it was too late to turn around and get the collar he used when he wanted to be left alone.

I forgot my collar. Damn. Not good. He could detect the lie himself.

Look at me, Lawrence ordered.

Brady lifted his head. The gold vest and metal cuff around the man’s bicep told him all he needed to know. He was face-to-face with a man who probably owned or had serious connections with the club and was tired of the bullshit.

What’s your name?

Brady. He always used his first name but never his last.

If his co-workers got wind of what he preferred sexually, they’d never let him live it down. True, he wasn’t an absolute submissive, choosing his partners carefully and bottoming when the idea appealed to him, but explaining his sexual preferences was easier said than done.

Here’s the long and short of it. Lawrence folded his arms over his chest. You are permitted to safe word. You can do so right now, and no one will prevent you from leaving. However, knowing that you’ve lied to the Masters of this establishment, you’ll be banned for a period of no less than six months. We’ll place your I.D. on file, and it won’t be removed until that time has passed. Lawrence hiked his chin in Regina’s direction. Or you can follow the rules. What’s it going to be?

My apologies. He was thankful he sounded as deflated as he felt. Talk about a hard lesson learned. Of course I’ll follow the rules.

Malcolm! Lawrence called out. Within seconds a large man in leather pants and a vest appeared. Mistress Regina wants to scene with this sub. I want you to monitor them.

Great. The night kept getting better and better.

Now he had a Dungeon Master to appease.

Not that it was an unusual request.

At six feet and four inches tall, Brady towered over most people. Due to the time he devoted to the gym, he was also muscular and extremely bulky. For many, his size seemed intimidating, even if he assumed the part of a submissive. Most of the time, he had to prove he was safe to top before a domme was willing to trust him.

Malcolm backed up a step. The right cage is available, Mistress Regina. You can take him there.

"On your feet, slave." Regina’s voice grated down his spine.

Grinding his teeth, he rose to follow her. The DM shouldered through the people in his path, making room for them. Regina snapped her fingers, an obvious command for Brady to stay close. He cursed Trevor and Brian for putting him in his position. Finding Aly had become more than draining. It was affecting his life in ways he didn’t appreciate. Malcolm stopped just outside the cage and waved them in. Regina didn’t waste time, stopping Brady when he strode to the center of the area, her eyes drifting over his body.

What are your hard limits?

The bracelet told her most of what she needed to know, but he was relieved to be able to add a few more limits to the list. No men. No anal. No bondage or restraints. She met his rebellious stare when he added, No penetration.

I suppose you’re going to tell me your Mistress doesn’t share?

No, she does not.

Shame, that.

Then—in a burst of recognition—he placed the woman's voice.

Son of a bitch.

He’d only seen her a few times at the club he frequented in Nashville. Back then, she'd been a brunette with brown eyes and a fuck-with-me-if-you-dare persona. He’d quickly discovered she liked to degrade her subs, which was something he wasn’t interested in. She also had a shitty attitude and a wild sadistic streak. She’d tried to get her claws in him, but he’d declined her advances as politely as possible. Eventually, he’d left the club, aware that she’d felt insulted by his dismissal.

He thought she’d forgotten him.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

Since Brian and Trevor had sent notices to prominent clubs in the state, asking that any information be sent to Brady or Candice, he’d marched right into Regina’s eager hands. All it took was a simple phone call.

I flew right into her trap.

You’re the one who placed the call, he said, his voice a low growl. You said Aly had been here.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. She was a better liar than he was, but he still smelled bullshit. It seems you’ve left me with little wiggle room, but we’ll work around your limits. By the time I’m finished, you’ll be begging me to fuck you.

Malcolm. She reached for a crop and glanced over her shoulder at the Dungeon Master. I need one of the female subbies. Then, turning to smile at Brady, she instructed, Remove your clothing.

For a second time, he considered safe wording.

He wasn’t interested in the woman in front of him or of the pale, nude, and lithe submissive with cropped black hair who entered the cage. All he could think about was Candice with her short, curvy frame, eyes the color of bluebells, and curly blonde hair. Her voice was the ultimate aphrodisiac, soft and raspy.

You feel amazing, Candice had whispered as she’d ridden him hard. So good.

He’d felt her detachment when she’d achieved orgasm, lifted away from his chest, and pressed her lips together as though she’d revealed too much. To gain her attention, he’d bucked his hips, sending his length deeper into her hot and slick sex. She’d gasped, eyes becoming dark, fingernails sinking into his chest. Then he told her how incredible she felt, how tight her pussy was around him, how much he wanted to keep fucking her.

With a deep breath, he shook the vision away.

Candice wasn’t here. She never would be.

Memories of her were all he’d ever have.

Over the last few weeks, he’d learned she disliked being anywhere near him. Regardless of how he felt, it was one-sided. She avoided him at every turn, even for something as simple as a phone call. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she loathed him. Her reactions indicated as much. But he knew people—could read people—and was aware she kept a safe distance because something about him got under her skin. For whatever reason, he made her nervous. If he knew what caused her anxiety, he’d chip away at her armor one tiny piece at a time. He'd prove that she could trust him.

Stop thinking about it. Get in the zone.

Once he’d removed his clothing and placed the garments in a neat pile on a nearby bench, he assumed his place in the center of the cage. People had come to the enclosure to observe. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud or embarrassed by the fact he didn’t have an erection. As a submissive, he always catered to his partner's desires. However, he had never been into public scenes. He intentionally chose dommes who weren’t into exhibitionism. Although he never minded watching, he did not enjoy putting on a show. It wasn’t his kink.

Yet another thing he had mistakenly thought he shared with Candice.

He remembered when he’d seen her for the first time. Something clicked—fascination, yearning, and desire in a glance. He wanted to sink to his knees before her, inhale her sweet scent, and go down on her for hours as he listened to her cries of pleasure. If she’d allow it, he’d lay her on a bed of rose petals as soft as her skin, worshiping her body exactly as she commanded.

Stop. Right now.

Get your fucking head on straight.

Regina ran her fingers along the tiger tattoo that encompassed his back. He tried to keep his shoulders from tensing at her touch. I suppose another hard limit is marking this?

Yes, Mistress.

I can see why. It would be a shame to ruin something so impressive. She moved away and retrieved two items from a nearby shelf. On your knees in front of him, Pamela. I want you to suck his cock. You can use your hands to get him ready. Then it’s mouth only. Regina handed the woman a plastic cock ring and a condom. He doesn’t come unless I command it.

Yes, Mistress. Pam placed the cock ring at the base of his penis and opened the condom.

What are your safe words? Regina studied him as she tapped the end of a small crop in her palm.

Green, yellow, and red.

You are not permitted to move. Keep your hands at your sides.

The sounds of her heels indicated she’d taken a place behind him. Brady tried to relax. This wasn’t anything outside of the norm. He just had to let her finish this scene, thank her for forgiving his earlier transgression, and get the hell out. Pamela used her fingers, wrapping them around his shaft. She pumped her small fist up and down his dick, getting him hard, using the perfect amount of pressure.

Now, Pamela, Regina commanded.

The submissive rolled the condom down his length, and then her hot mouth encased the head of his cock. Pleasure merged with pain as Regina’s first blow landed on the top of his ass, a harsh, burning sting. If his mind said no, his sex-deprived body said yes. The wet suction of Pamela’s lips and tongue brought his dick to life, causing his cock to rise in an appreciative salute. The woman on her knees knew what she was doing, taking him deep into her throat, working his prick like the seasoned submissive she obviously was.

Very nice.

Regina’s appreciation threatened to pull him away from the moment. He couldn’t get in the proper subservient headspace. If he wanted to walk out of the club with his membership intact, he had to let it all go and submit. Even if he didn’t feel the compulsion. This wasn’t the first time he’d been disinterested in a scene, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Thus was the life of a submissive who, from time to time, wanted to change things up. Only a certain woman could soften him, humble him, and bring him to his knees.

Get. Your. Fucking. Head. On. Straight.

In seconds, he knew he couldn’t fake enthusiasm.

Each blow from Regina took away from the suctioned pressure on his cock. Pamela took him deep into her throat, humming a harmony he couldn’t place, as though she could sense his dick was losing interest. He’d have to try something else to make this work, something that came at the cost of his sanity.

Damn you, Candice.

Unable to do anything else, he closed his eyes and pictured the source of his misery. Stupid, really, since he’d sworn he’d stop obsessing over the feisty female. He tried to pretend he was performing for the woman who haunted his dreams, not the one steadily beating his ass. Blue eyes invaded his vision, like the cloudless summer sky at night following a spring rain. He tried to hold on to the image—to remember how her voice had sent electric pulses down his spine—but it didn’t work. The cracks of the whip shackled him right where he stood. There wasn’t a daydream strong enough to overcome his situation.

Lashes rained down on his ass, the leather biting into the skin. Without lust and desire to sustain them, each blow seemed cruel and needless. Pain overrode pleasure, keeping him firmly stuck in the moment.

Only the real deal could get him off.

Candice Bradshaw.

And it would never happen.

Son of a bitch.

Candice composed herself as she climbed out of her car. A spasm shot up her spine, blood rushing through her legs as her muscles cramped. She stomped her feet, rolling her shoulders. The drive to The Den had taken hours, and she hadn’t made the trip because she wanted to.

Oh no.

This trip was special.

Since her partner had gotten a tip on Alyssa McIntrye but didn’t feel compelled to share it with her, Candice had no choice but to follow Brady across the state. She’d left behind the perfectly good company and a mouth-watering dinner to put the aggravating man in his place.

Of all the nerve.

She hadn’t been excited about working with the officer that Brian and Trevor—who had hired her to track down the woman who’d fled their home after they'd attempted to get her the mental help she needed—insisted could be of assistance. Truth be told, the sexy submissive made her want things she couldn’t have. Things that would destroy her. Relationships only ended in heartbreak. It was a very painful lesson she’d learned as a wide-eyed and innocent college freshman. Once you gave a man your heart, he could and would destroy you. She’d never allow herself to be in that position again. She’d managed to convince herself it was all for the best until she met him.

Brady fucking Stone.

Visions of the night they’d shared flickered through her mind. She’d been working on an article about the private club, Fantasia, undercover. It was her last night to gather information, everything had been perfect, and then a whiny sub had latched on to her like a clinging kitten. She’d tried to dissuade the man, informing him she wasn’t interested.

To her dismay, it only fueled him more.

He’d begged and pleaded. Licking her shoe, groveling like a child. People had started watching the encounter with amusement. She’d been worried her cover might be blown when Brady had arrived, nudged the sub aside, and gazed up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. He’d requested permission to speak with her, and she’d motioned to the empty seat beside her. He had luscious features, a wonderfully muscular and sculpted body, and impeccable manners.

One thirty-minute conversation was all it had taken.

She’d led Brady to a room upstairs, tied him to the bed, and teased him with her hands and mouth. He’d been perfect, remaining completely still, allowing her to do as she wished. When he’d been primed, she’d slipped a condom down his impressive length and rode him like a pony at the fair. He hadn’t minded her burying her nails into his arms as she slid up and down his cock, moving faster and faster. During that time, she’d been more vocal than she’d have liked, accessible to him in a way that made her feel vulnerable.

When she realized her mistake, she’d been mortified.

In the time she’d spent with Brady, she’d allowed her defenses to crumble. She’d pulled back when she’d said too much, afraid of revealing her demons. He’d combated her withdrawal with seduction. He’d told her how beautiful she was, explaining in detail how perfect she felt. Each time she descended on his length, he lifted his hips to greet her. It was absolutely perfect, everything an intimate moment should be, which was the problem.

Sex was fine. Intimacy was not.

After checking Brady’s restraints and making sure he couldn’t harm himself, she’d dressed and left—a horrible thing for a domme to do. He’d yelled for her to stop as she’d hit the door. Unfortunately, the terror she’d experienced overcame everything else. At that time, she didn’t have a moral compass to guide her. Knowing the defenses she’d maintained for so long had unraveled so easily—so quickly—for a sexy specimen of the male species had prevented her from caring for him as she should have.

She’d thought she’d never see him again.

After she’d written the article, she’d tucked away her feelings. It was best for everyone involved. What she hadn’t known was Michael—her best friend’s fiancé—was friends with