Three Strikes (Desire Island 3)

Ryan barked a laugh. “There are so many sparks flying around this island it’s a wonder the place hasn’t burned down. That’s the nature of BDSM. It’s smokin’ hot. That’s why I love it so much. The intensity, the passion, is built into the process.”

“Sure,” Ella agreed easily. “But I’m talking about more than that, Ryan, and you know it. Remember when Caelan was freaking out because he found himself falling in love with a trainee? I still remember what you said to him.”

“Yeah? What did I say?”

“You said you hoped you’d get all goofy someday and lose control, but that you’d yet to find ‘the one.’ Well, maybe Abbie is the one, Ryan. You won’t know that unless you try. Maybe it’s time to give love another chance.”

When Ella and Ryan had met four years ago, Ryan had just come out of a breakup with a woman he’d thought was going to be his submissive life partner. She’d been the one to leave, and it had thrown him for a real loop at the time. But when the smoke had cleared and he’d been able to process what had happened, he had to admit she’d done the right thing. They had both just been going through the motions for far too long.

After the breakup, he’d vowed to take his time before leaping into another serious relationship. He enjoyed the varied experience the club scene offered, and in the two years since Ella and he had conceived of and brought Desire Island to life, he’d been so freaking busy he’d barely had time to breathe, much less fall in love.

But maybe Ella was right. Maybe it was time to try again.

The smart watch on Ella’s wrist dinged. Glancing down at it, she rose to her feet. “Duty calls. I’m off to my next training session.” She turned back as she got to the door. “All I’m suggesting is that you keep an open mind.”

Ryan nodded. “Thanks, Ella. You’ve given me a lot to think about. You’re a good friend.”

After she left, Ryan turned his attention to his laptop and started to go through work emails he hadn’t had a chance to review. But he remained distracted by last night’s scene and the lovely girl he’d left so abruptly. If nothing else, he owed Abbie an apology.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, there was a small knock on his ajar office door and, looking up, he saw Abbie. She was dressed in her usual day outfit of a bikini top and tiny shorts, white sneakers on her feet, her long, wavy hair pulled back in a high ponytail, the black collar that marked her as a staff slave buckled around her slender neck. The memory of those luscious lips sliding up and down his shaft the night before made his cock tingle.

“Abbie. Hello.”

She had a very determined expression on her face, and he could tell there was something specific on her mind. But before she could say anything, he wanted to set the record straight between them. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to talk to you. To…to apologize for last night.”

“Apologize?” she asked, stopping mid-stride toward his desk, a small worry line appearing between her auburn brows.

“Yes. I moved things in a decidedly sexual direction without really giving you a choice in the matter. That’s why I left so abruptly, and why I failed to give you any aftercare. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

She stood still, staring at him. What was going on behind those big blue eyes?

Ryan got to his feet and moved around the desk, waving toward one of the seats as he sat in the other. “Please, sit down.”

She took the seat next to him and looked down at her hands in her lap. They were beautiful hands, he noticed, the fingers long and tapered, the nails neatly manicured and polished a pale pink.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. “I appreciate the apology. But I guess I still don’t really understand. I thought there was something special happening between us.” Her eyes flitted away, color washing into her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes again, lifting her chin in a determined way. “At least, I’d thought there was. Was I wrong?”

“You’re not wrong,” Ryan said, hope suddenly ballooning in his chest. He reached out to touch her knee. “It was special. You were amazing. It’s just…” he trailed off, trying to form his thoughts into something cohesive. He always encouraged, even insisted, that his slave trainees communicate with honesty and directness. There was no room for half-truths in BDSM. It was too dangerous. He demanded trust from his subs. It was time he offered it in return.

“Normally, I have no trouble with casual scenes because that’s all they are,” he explained. He paused, formulating his thoughts. “I should have realized going into it that it would be different because of our shared history and connection. I don’t just regard you as a staff slave, but as a friend. I do some of my best training when you’re at my side as a demo partner. I respect your work ethic and the real skills you bring to any training scenario with your knowledge of positions and submissive grace.”