Page 4 of A Dead Man’s Pulse (Trident Security Omega Team #1)

Pulling into the club lot, Dakota parked her SUV next to his truck, and before she had a chance to open her door, he’d done it for her.

Holding out his hand, he helped her from the vehicle, and delicious chills went down her spine.

This was the only time in her busy life she let a man take over and treat her as a submissive.

All other times she spent proving to her co-workers, father, and everyone else that she was alpha enough to hold her own.

Instead of using the front entrance, Shane led her to a side door and knocked.

Dakota glanced up and noticed a security camera.

The Dom at her side saw where she was looking and said, “No worries. Master Robert is very trustworthy. The cameras are for safety only, and as long as nothing is reported that would make a review necessary, the videos are erased after a week.”

The door swung open, and a huge bouncer held out a hand to Shane. “Hey, man. Been a while.”

The two men shook. “Yeah, it has. I called Rob on the way over. Said he’d hold a room for us.”

“Yup. Room six is all yours.”

“Thanks.” Without further conversation, Shane led Dakota down a dimly lit hallway.

Loud club music filled the air, making the floor and walls vibrate around them.

Opening a door labeled Room #6, he gestured for her to precede him into the dungeon-like space.

Royal blue, black, and gold were the colors of the décor which was a mix of elegance and medieval—at least it appeared very tidy and hygienic.

The familiar, citrus-scented cleaner used by many clubs tickled her nose.

For some reason, it complimented the smell of sex.

When the door closed behind her again, the music’s volume dropped dramatically, although they could still feel the bass thumping off the carpeted floor. “Strip and present, pet.”

“Yes, Sir.” It didn’t take long for Dakota to shed her sneakers, jeans, shirt, bra, and panties, placing them on a chair next to the door.

She then sank to her knees in the middle of the room, placed her upturned hands on her thighs, and bowed her head in submission as Shane took off his tie, shirt, shoes, and socks, leaving his dress pants on.

When they’d been negotiating the scene earlier, he’d mentioned he and his buddies had been at a christening that afternoon for his college roommate’s son.

It’d been the first time she’d ever seen him out of the leathers he wore at Pandora’s Box.

After placing the duffel bag he’d brought in with them on the bed, he began to rifle through it.

She knew it was filled with various adult toys for play, and she felt more aroused as the sensual atmosphere took over her body and mind.

And speaking of a body , Shane Littleton had it in spades.

With a face and physique that stopped traffic, he’d been featured twice in his department’s annual beefcake calendar, which raised funds for the widows and children of fallen firemen.

After gathering what he wanted from the bag, Shane placed the items on a small table and left the duffel underneath it.

Since she was close to the table, Dakota could see what he’d chosen without lifting her head more than a scant inch.

The items sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine, and her pussy wept.

It had been about six or seven weeks since she’d been at Pandora’s Box, the last time she’d played with Shane.

Rarely did she go that long without scening with a Dom.

But she’d taken a lot of overtime shifts lately, on top of packing and moving from her old apartment to the condo she’d bought last month.

She was finally a homeowner—one more thing that fueled her independence in the world.

“Stand and get on the spanking bench. I’ve been itching to get at that sweet ass since I saw you walk into Chasers tonight.”

And she was itching to have his dominant hands on her ass.

Dakota didn’t know why she was so drawn to the lifestyle she’d discovered with a friend about five years ago and had no interest in analyzing things to figure it out.

When Brenna had first mentioned she wanted to check out a munch, Dakota thought she was kidding.

A munch was a gathering where those interested in discovering more about BDSM could speak to experienced subs and Doms to help decide if they wanted to try it.

Surprisingly, she’d been intrigued enough to investigate the lifestyle further.

Brenna had also continued to explore her sexual submissiveness and recently moved in with the Dom she’d been collared by last year.

Dakota knew an engagement ring was secretly being made for when he popped the question.

Settling on the red leather padding on the spanking bench, Dakota tried to relax and push everything out of her mind except what Shane was about to do.

His hands trailed up her legs and then over her ass and lower back, rubbing and squeezing her flesh to bring the blood to the surface.

“So, pet, what’s going on in that head of yours?

You have a small tell when something’s bothering you and don’t want to talk about it—you nibble on your bottom lip. ”

She’d never realized she did that, but now that it had been pointed out to her, she’d probably notice it from now on.

Knowing the only way she could get out of answering the question, now that they were in D/s mode, was to say her safeword, she sighed.

“I got passed over for Special Ops again, Sir.”

Since Shane was a fireman, she’d found it comfortable to talk about “on-the-job” stuff with him.

Firemen, cops, paramedics, EMTs, and ER nurses understood what each other dealt with on a regular basis.

Even though there was usually a healthy rivalry between the police and fire departments, there was also a strong camaraderie.

His right hand left her skin and a split second later made contact again with a hard slap on her right ass cheek, eliciting a gasp and moan from her as the sting made her wetter. “That sucks. Did they give you a reason why?”

“They never do, Sir.”

Smack . That one landed on the left side of her ass. “You’d be good at it.” Smack. “What about the detective bureau or taking the supervisor’s test?” Smack .

Goose bumps popped all over her body. This was what she’d needed .

. . what she craved. A way to deal with the disappointment, the anger, and all the other negative emotions that came with her job.

She couldn’t cry in front of her fellow officers unless it was because of the death of one of their own because it showed a weakness that could be used against her.

The same went for her father—crying was for sissies, even coming from the female sex.

Gavin “Iron Guts” Swift had been a highly decorated police officer who’d made it to the rank of sergeant before a back injury had ended his career fourteen months before he got his twenty years in.

At least it had been an on-the-job car accident, so all his medical expenses were paid for by workman’s compensation, and he received a disability pension which was roughly seventy-five percent of his active-duty salary.

Shane continued to pepper her ass and upper thighs with slaps that she felt deep in her core until she was ready to beg him to fuck her senseless, escaping the outside world for a little while.

Tomorrow, she would think about her future.

Tonight, there was no room for her thoughts—all she had to do was feel.