Excerpt from Tropic of Pleasure by Tina Donahue
Copyright © Tina Donahue, 2016
Cara had heard about the wicked games Hud and Ryder played and, by god, she wanted in on them. Having both men tie her up, strip her bare, making her fully vulnerable to their hands, mouths and cocks…to discipline her until she wailed in delight, followed by their tender caresses.
Okay, so sweet intimacy from them was stretching it. The problem wasn’t that they were bad guys; they were disgustingly honorable when it came to her. Cara had met them when she was eighteen, shortly after they’d started their business. That was ten endless years ago. More than enough time to learn they weren’t looking for commitment with any woman, especially her.
That didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun together. When it came to rowdy sex laced with a heavy dose of kink, Cara could be as wild as all their other babes, even though there were obstacles to her desire. The least of which was her continued inability to tell them what she really wanted.
Hud suddenly glanced up from her report on the company’s newest project. Rather than ask any particulars about it, he seemed surprised she was ogling him and stared back.
A wave of heat rolled through Cara, as warming as a slug of good booze or an impassioned kiss.
God, he was something, at thirty-three definitely in his prime. Several locks of toffee-colored hair grazed his forehead; others curled around his ears, his haircut shaggy and relaxed, in perfect accord with a Palm Beach lifestyle. No different from his bronzed complexion, a delicious contrast to his cool gray eyes fringed with dark, unspeakably long lashes. His shadow of beard was beyond lickable, his rich mouth impossible to resist.
Shivering slightly, Cara imagined him pleasuring and imprisoning her with his hard bod, an easy task for such a large man. At six-three he was huge, all lean muscle and endless testosterone.
Carnal hunger, vaguely predatory, flared in his eyes, then was extinguished before it got out of hand. Clearly he didn’t intend to get down and dirty with her, as he had with his countless girlfriends. Cara had a good idea why he and Ryder had never hit on her but needed to coax them past their reluctance.
As though to put distance between himself and that thought, Hud leaned back in his chair. Today he’d worn brown slacks and a pale-yellow dress shirt, the sleeves folded back, exposing the bold tribal tat on his forearm.
Her mouth watered at the dark swirls and slashes. Glancing lower, she savored the impressive bulge behind his fly.
He shifted his weight in caution or arousal, hard to tell which.
“Thanks for the report.” His words rasped faintly. “You did a good job.”
Good had nothing to do with what Cara needed and finally had to have. “Thanks.”
She inched her attention to Ryder.
Finishing his sip of water, he continued to study her chest.
It took an enormous amount of will not to pull in her shoulders, hiding herself. Growing up, Cara had always been the big, plump or fat girl, whatever the snotty term happened to be that bullies used to taunt her. Thankfully, Kim Kardashian had finally wiggled onto the scene, making meaty bottoms and large breasts not only fashionable but also drool-worthy.
Ryder’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed with another hard swallow. Hotter than a Greek god, he wore his dark blond hair long and tied back with a leather cord that was the same shade as his dreamy brown eyes. He was as tall as Hud, with the same chiseled body, his complexion golden from days spent in the sun, his bristly upper lip, cheeks and chin tantalizing, the bad boy look not at all tamed by his mint-blue dress shirt and navy pants.
Cara wanted to tear the clothes off him and lick his tiny nipples, pendulous cock, lightly furred balls, all while inhaling deeply of his leather-and-spice scent.
Hud’s was woodsy, tinged with musk, warm and seductive, making her want to eat him like a longed-for treat.
The smutty thoughts had her head swimming. She could barely catch her breath at what she was about to do, having waited too long as it was.
Hud studied her. “Is there anything else you’d like to show us?”
Was there ever. Cara hadn’t asked for this meeting to talk about work. “I want in.”
Both men looked so clueless it made them downright endearing.
“In on what?” Hud asked.
Clearly, she’d been too cryptic but had to take a second to gather her thoughts. His rich baritone had distracted her. “On being your and Ryder’s submissive.”
Their confusion fell away replaced by an expression only a prosecutor could love—the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights look.
Hud left his chair so quickly it rolled into the one next to it, causing it to bump against the granite conference table. After closing the door, he regarded the arched windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, exposing the room’s interior to the rest of the office and to anyone on the outside. Hazy sun streamed through the glass. Beyond it, squat palms, ferns, and flowers in a rainbow of colors fluttered in the humid breeze. In the outer office, two staff members walked past the room, not bothering to glance at whatever was going on inside.
They probably thought it was purely business, given the building model on the end of the table. Although Cara was a newly licensed architect—at the bottom of the pecking order, so to speak—she’d been responsible for many aspects of the mansion’s design, using the company’s 3D printer to essentially bring it to life.
Hud and Ryder looked like death, their complexions paling beneath their tans.
Cara hoped their reactions were a result of her knowing their secret or because of who she was rather than the unthinkable…they simply didn’t want her. Forcing herself to be brave, she leaned up and tried to soothe. “If you’re worried that making me your sub will be a problem, it won’t be. I swear.” She continued to speak quietly so no one would overhear. “Same with the kink. The wilder, the better.”
Ryder stared, as though she’d spoken fluent Martian, then effortlessly regained his composure. “I don’t know where you got the idea that we were into—”
“I just heard about it from a reliable source.” God, what a revelation that had been. For hours afterward, Cara had found it impossible to concentrate on work.
Hud frowned. “You heard about it from whom?”
A woman who used to work here, not that Cara was about to say that. “Why?”
Ryder stopped squeezing his water bottle and put the poor squished plastic on the table. “We’d like to know who started this insane rumor.”
“Then you guys don’t enjoy BDSM? By the way, that’s—”
“We know what it is,” Hud said. He worked his mouth, obviously trying not to smile.
Cara wished he would. The deep dimple in his right cheek made her panties wet. Not waiting for it, she nodded and went for broke. “Then let’s do it. I swear it’ll be totally hot and no way in hell will my father ever find out.”