The Domâ¦
Journalist Hadley McCarthy has changed a lot since breakÂing up with her ex, Guy. She used to be Dom to his Sub, but sheâs been fantasizing about having someone dominate her for once. And when Guy invites her to do a story on his gymnastics studio, she finds the perfect candidate: sexy coach Reed Frost.
The Subâ¦
Guy has wanted Hadley back since they split up a year ago, until his hopes are dashed by her undeniable attraction to Frost. But Guy has his own secret desires, ones that he may finally be ready to exploreâ¦
The Trainerâ¦
Reed Frost hasnât been with anyone since his wifeâcertainly no one as aggressive and seductive as Hadley. Can she convince him to become her trainer in the gym and the bedroom?
An S&M Love Story
The men in the room are all bent into interesting positions. A big blond stands on his hands, balanced and unmoving. Another dangles from rings. A third is leaning over a polished leather horse. Hadley McCarthy watches the men as she moves past themâimagining that they have been put there for her pleasure, fantasizing that they will never move. Hold still. Stay that way.
She hears the voice of the trainer, and her head turns quickly. Trainer. In another world, in her other world, the word means something else. There, heâd be Dom. Here, he is Coach.
When she sees him, she feels for a moment as if she canât breathe. He is older than she is by maybe fifteen years, and heâs tall: at least six foot three. Sheâs good at approximatingâbeing a journalist has honed her observational skills. The trainer has a thick, solid chest, muscular arms. Thereâs a faded tattoo high up on his biceps. Old-fashioned, Sailor Jerry style. But his physique is not what stops her: itâs the power that emanates from him. Sheâs never been so struck by a stranger before. He has a presence that draws out her basest, most animalistic instincts. She wants to fuck him.
He turns and looks her way, but he doesnât seem to see her.
The room is in motion, suddenlyâor maybe it was always in motion and she had frozen the players in position with the power of her mind. The men are beautifulâyoung and lithe. Yet she doesnât see them as points of interest. She sees only the trainer, the way he stands and observes, barks, manipulates. Heâs the oldest thing in the room, and she only has eyes for him.
Would he talk like that to her if she asked him?
Would he bark commands? Push her around?
Would he punish her?
Hadley remains still for a moment and takes a breath. Then she heads to the front desk to find someone who can help her.
* * *
Guy watches through the windows in the office. He runs his hands through his thick dark hair, as he always does when heâs nervous. A quick gesture, as if to make sure every carefully mussed piece of hair is still artfully out of place. He touches the buttons on the front of his shirt as if theyâre talismans, shoots the cuffs of his sleeves. Hadley doesnât notice him, but he follows her intently. She is different from the rest of the girls moving through the gym in their colorful bits of glittery spandex. Sheâs older and poised. The gymnasts are poised, too, but in a different way. Positioned is a better term. Always on display.
He walks down the corridor and moves quickly after the woman.
* * *
Reed Frost sits in the Parallel Barâthe gymâs ultra modern upstairs caféâstaring at this journalist. He sizes her up quickly, the way he sums up any new athlete walking into his gym: dark hair, deep brown eyes, high cheekbones. Delicate features you want to trace with the tip of your finger. V-neck sweater in charcoal and a matching pencil skirt. Lovely. He appraises her automatically, a mental exercise. As he would a new athlete, he puts her through an imaginary routine. She has balance; sheâs gracefulâhe can tell that instantly. Itâs a skill. He smiles to himself. She has absolutely zero interest in his services. This girl is here to do a piece for the local paper. Sheâs not here to ask about becoming a member. Besides, sheâs two decades too old.
âWhy are you smiling?â
Her voice surprises him. He stops smiling and looks at her, his blue eyes narrowing. His athletes donât talk to him like that. But he reminds himself quickly that sheâs not one of his athletes. âIâm not often the one being interviewed,â he says, voice even.
âMeaning?â She holds her pen above her notebook. He likes that she isnât using a laptop. He notices that her pen is sleek, silver and expensive-looking, and her notebook isnât one of those fancy, useless ones from a craft store. Sheâs writing in a Moleskine. He uses the smaller version to keep his own notes.
âFor my standard intakes, I run the prospective athletes through a rigorous questioning session,â Frost explains.
âDefine ârigorous.ââ
He looks hard at her again. Itâs obvious to both of them that thereâs a connection. Yet neither one seems willing to make the first move. âYouâre the writer.â Heâs mock deferential.