Jo Davis. I Spy a Naughty Game
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you to my husband and wonderful teenagers for your support and understanding when I spend way too many hours in front of the computer. I’m not playing Minesweeper — I swear!
Thank you to my fabulous editor, Tracy Bernstein, for being my biggest fan and mentor. You keep this train on the track, and I’m forever grateful.
And always to my Foxes, without whom life would be very lonely and dull indeed. I love you guys.
One
Blaze Kelly wound through the press of writhing, sweaty bodies. A sea of weekend players wearing enough fucking leather to upholster a fleet of ’57 Chevys. The smarter ones were barely dressed at all — less to peel off when the mercury shot out of control.
Some were on their knees, eagerly fulfilling the desires of their masters or mistresses. A few of those masters wielded floggers or belts, the slap on supple flesh rewarded by groans of pleasure.
A few sipped drinks at their tables and engaged in lively conversation with other Doms — or Dommes, if female — completely ignoring the devoted slaves kneeling at their feet, as was their right.
Every single one craved the rigid structure of the lifestyle, the rules that dictated every nuance of existence here, and Domination /submission was only a part of that structure. All were here to escape, just for a blessed slice of time, the stark reality that overwhelmed their world outside these safe walls.
This place made sense when the rest of his personal life had gone to hell and burned. He hadn’t been able to get here fast enough, was desperate to find his center again. To reach for the calm and certainty, the inner power, that made him a master, caused a willing sub to tremble under his touch.
Then he’d lose himself, connect with one who understood him as much as she understood herself. Or himself. Male or female — the sub’s physical form hardly mattered.
And he’d forget all about his heart, left broken and bleeding at Emma’s feet. He
She was wrong about the first point, just too afraid to venture past her boundaries. And she was painfully correct about the second.
Impasse. Such a formidable, incredible woman, yet her fear of the unknown and the misunderstood was a twenty-foot steel wall between them.
And in the end she’d stormed out of his house, tossed him aside like a bag of garbage. At least he hadn’t broken down, not in front of her and not in the couple of days since.
No, the tears were locked on the inside. Always. Like razor blades scoring his gut.
Blaze mentally shook himself and vowed to move on. This was his world, and he’d be fucked sideways if he’d let any woman castrate him. In the corner, he spotted Ryan and his new sub-in-training, Caitlin, just the couple he needed to help him accomplish his goal. Spotting Blaze, Ryan waved him over with a grin.
“My man! What’s up?” Ryan clapped him on the back, gave him a once-over. “Shit, you look like somebody died, my friend.”
“Close enough. Good to see you, Ry.” His greeting lacked his usual outgoing, drunk-on-life verve, and his normally easy smile fell short of the mark. Damn.
“Care to talk about it?” His friend flicked a glance to the stunning brunette kneeling at his feet. “In private?”
“Nope. I’m here for less talk and more action, like the song says.”
Ryan brightened, taking the reins. “That’s my boy. And lucky you — I’ve got just the right medicine.” Lovingly, he stroked his slave’s hair, his gaze betraying the depth of his feelings for her. Devotion she couldn’t see because her eyes were fixed on the floor in deference to her master.
“Caitlin’s training is progressing nicely, and I think she’s ready to take two Doms… if you’re willing to help me push her to the next level.”
Blaze studied the woman, a Bond girl look-alike if he’d ever seen one, typical of Ryan’s taste. Long tousled dark hair, a rack worthy of a Penthouse model, legs like a goddess. Too showy, not his preferred type.
But he appreciated beauty, and no one could argue that Ry’s sub wasn’t a looker. She was also excited, if the hitch in her breathing and the tightening of her rosy nipples peeking over the leather halfbra were any indication. Responsive, ready to please her master.
“Not
Blaze’s cock came slowly to life, lengthening in his leather pants, making a big liar out of him.
“Bullshit,” Ryan scoffed. “You’re not a languish-on-the-sidelines kind of guy. What gives? It’s that chick you’ve been seeing. Emma, right?”
“Let’s drop it.”
Ryan rolled his eyes, ignoring the warning in his voice. “I knew it. Damn, for a woman who’s got the butch vibe down to perfection, Emma’s so vanilla, she makes my sainted granny seem like a ten-dollar hooker. What do you see in her?”
“You’ve only met Emma once, so your conclusions are hardly accurate or fair. Not another word about her, my friend, or you’ll be eating soup through a straw for the next six weeks.”
“And you’ll smile cheerfully while bashing in my face,” Ryan said, unfazed. “You’re a crazy sonofabitch, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard.” This was Ry’s way of backing off the subject, and Blaze began to relax.
“Then there’s no reason for you to sit here like a whipped puppy. Come on.” His friend scooted out from behind the table and tapped his sub’s shoulder.
“Where to?” Blaze asked.
“Do you really have to ask?”
He supposed not. His blood fired as he rose and accompanied Ryan to the back, down a hallway to one of the private rooms used for scenes, the sub following close behind. Once they were inside, he closed the door and
