Click

  Suncoast Society

  Click

  The moans of pleasure. The crack of a whip splitting the air. The smack of a paddle against flesh. That’s what comes to mind for most people when they think of BDSM.

  When you peel back the trappings, silence the heavy, throbbing bass line of the club music, what’s left are the beating hearts, the gasps, the exhaled breaths. Heels on a tile floor, or the rustle of fabric.

  Sometimes, the best parts of BDSM lay nestled among the softer sounds of play.

  Note: This book contains a heroine who is a domme.

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary

  Length: 24,873 words

  CLICK

  Suncoast Society

  Tymber Dalton

  SIREN SENSATIONS

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Siren Sensations

  CLICK

  Copyright © 2015 by Tymber Dalton

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-016-9

  First E-book Publication: March 2015

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Click by Tymber Dalton from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Tymber Dalton’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Tymber Dalton’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  To Sir, Daddy, the pup—all part and parcel of Mr. B, who taught me how to listen to the stillness and appreciate the softer sounds.

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  The vignettes in this book aren’t exactly in chronological order compared to other books in the Suncoast Society series, and can be read independently of other books in the series. While all the books in the Suncoast Society series are standalone works which may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers is as follows:

  1. Safe Harbor

  2. Cardinal’s Rule

  3. Domme by Default

  4. The Reluctant Dom

  5. The Denim Dom

  6. Pinch Me

  7. Broken Toy

  8. A Clean Sweep

  9. A Roll of the Dice

  10. His Canvas

  11. A Lovely Shade of Ouch

  12. Crafty Bastards

  13. A Merry Little Kinkmas

  14. Sapiosexual

  15. A Very Kinky Valentine’s Day

  16. Things Made Right

  17. Click

  Most of the characters who appear in this book appear in other books in the Suncoast Society series. All titles are available from Siren-BookStrand.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  Opening

  Tony and Shayla

  John and Abbey

  Sully, Mac, and Clarisse

  Seth and Leah

  Mike and Jenny

  Tilly, Cris, and Landry

  Sir and pet

  About the Author

  CLICK

  Suncoast Society

  TYMBER DALTON

  Copyright © 2015

  Opening

  When people think of BDSM, it calls to mind the crack of whips, the moans, the screams, the cries.

  A paddle smacking a fleshy ass.

  The whzip of a riding crop or a cane being slashed through the air.

  The zap of a violet wand.

  There is something to be said about the soft, subtle sounds of BDSM.

  The heel of a boot against a tile floor.

  A breath in an ear.

  The rustle of a skirt.

  A growl as teeth bite into flesh.

  A zipper slowly sliding open.

  The click of a lock closing on a collar.

  Tony and Shayla

  It’s not just what you say—it’s how you say it. It always pays to weigh your words carefully.

  Especially when you’re talking to a Dom.

  And especially when it’s your Dom…

  * * * *

  Shayla knelt waiting on the playroom floor, naked except for her leather collar. They’d just returned from Venture, the BDSM club they frequented.

  Upon returning home, Tony, her husband and Master, had wordlessly pointed at the playroom and sent her with a snap of his fingers to await him there. With the door open, the dull sound of his bootheels on the tile as he walked down the hall toward their bedroom softly reverberated through her soul.

  Those boots.

  Those goddamned black leather motorcycle boots that she couldn’t even so much as look at in the closet now without getting wet.

  And she knew that was the very reason he’d ordered them kept right by the closet door, where she’d have to see them, step around them, every time she went into the closet.

  The quiet reminder, every bit as powerful as the collar around her neck and the ring on her finger, of who she willingly belonged to.

  The same boots he’d worn the very first afternoon at the club when he’d worked with her, before they had a relationship, when he was leading her firsthand through the world of BDSM.

  Soft. Supple. The earthy scent of the leather as heady an aroma as the man himself.

  He’d been DMing tonight, filling in for an injured friend.

  Which meant they didn’t get to play.

  She’d not just wanted to play—she’d needed to play. Craved it.

  Yes, she’d gotten pissy with him, more than a littl
e mouthy when he’d told her she’d have to wait until they got home despite the fact that he’d spent the night before and all that day teasing and tormenting her, getting her hornier than hell, working her to a frenzy with a promise of a really hot forced orgasm scene there at the club.

  Well, okay, more than a little pissy with him.

  So, yeah, she’d admit it. The news hadn’t made her happy.

  The dark look in his green eyes when he’d arched an eyebrow at her and told her to settle down.

  That look.

  The one that meant she’d crossed the line from playful banter into questioning his authority. The line she’d willingly agreed to give to him, to his sole discretion. Especially since she’d crossed that line in front of other people.

  Kinky people.

  Their kinky friends.

  At the BDSM club.

  A place where, if nowhere else, he was her absolute authority.

  Time to pay.

  She had no doubt her ass would be feeling it tomorrow.

  Could she safeword, stand up, and stand up to him?

  Yes, but it would forever alter their dynamic. This was what she’d signed up for, agreed to.

  Longed for.

  If she didn’t obey him, if she didn’t take her lumps—especially when she damn well knew she’d earned them—she wouldn’t feel right about it.

  And she knew why she’d earned them. Instead of accepting it when he’d told her they’d have to wait to play until they got home, instead of just saying, “Yes, Sir,” she’d spat out a word that even made their friend Tilly’s eyes widen.

  “Fine.”

  Not just what she’d said. That might not have earned her strokes.

  It was the tone in which she’d said it.

  And the fact that when Tony had stopped midturn and looked back at her, she hadn’t corrected herself.

  Yes, okay, maybe she’d subconsciously been trying to push his buttons, pissed off that she was hornier than hell and he’d had three blowjobs since the night before.

  Because then she’d looked him squarely in the eye and asked, “What?”

  In that same tone.

  Maybe it was Tilly’s audibly sharp intake of breath, her friend literally clamping her mouth shut, that had finally shaken Shayla’s mood. Shayla actually took a second to look into her husband and Master’s eyes and realized, oh, shit.

  The line she’d crossed was about a mile in her rearview mirror and quickly disappearing in the dust.

  And had she apologized and possibly remedied the situation?

  No.

  She’d taken that damn shovel and deepened the hole even more as fast as she could.

  “Fine, Sir.”

  Maybe there’s a SAM streak in me I don’t know about.

  Never one to make a dramatic scene in public, not that their little exchange would have been dramatic to the average vanilla person in the first place, Tony had hesitated for a moment, the weight of his gaze heavy on Shayla before he’d turned and headed back to the club’s office to pick up his DM name badge.

  Tilly had leaned in. “Um, yeeeaaah. If you were looking for a beating, honey, I think you just found one. In the bad way. Even Gilo isn’t that brazen.”

  “Gilo wasn’t treated to twenty-four hours of tease and denial, either, with a promise of getting to scene and orgasm tonight,” Shayla had muttered.

  “Fair enough. You’ve got bigger balls than me, girlie. I’ve never seen your dude look so pissed off.”

  “Neither have I.”

  Now Shayla regretted her tone. It wasn’t Tony’s fault. He hadn’t deliberately waylaid her orgasms even longer. Derrick, the club’s owner, had gotten rear-ended in the bad and literal way that afternoon and was now dealing with insurance paperwork after his trip to the hospital and several hours spent in the ER. He’d called the volunteer manning the desk that night to please ask any of the regular DMs who showed up that night to fill in.

  Tony and Shayla had been the first ones through the door. Well, Tony had been the first volunteer DM through the door that night.

  So it wasn’t some bullshit excuse, either.

  Shayla knew she should have been a little more charitable, especially considering the circumstances.

  But…fuck.

  Back in the present, it’d been at least fifteen minutes since they’d returned home. She knew her ass better be kneeling in here, naked and waiting, when Tony finally decided to join her in the playroom. She didn’t know what he was doing, besides dragging this out to give her time to think about what she’d done and what he might be about to do to her.

  Finally, the sound of his bootheels on the floor again, heading toward the playroom. Then the sound of him stopping in the foyer, where he’d left their implement bag, a rolling suitcase, followed by the resumption of his trek and the noise of the wheels rolling across the tile and the rattle of canes and crops in the plastic tube he carried them in.

  She felt rather than saw him stop in the doorway. Another long, silent moment passed. Then he crossed the room and brought the implement bag over next to where she knelt, her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. He laid the cane tube down next to it.

  And his boots came into view. The soft matte-black finish, a few stray scuffs on the squared-off toes. He stood there, waiting, silent.

  Then he tapped his left boot once.

  She scooted forward and kissed the top of his boot, pressing her forehead to it and now feeling even more ashamed of how she’d acted.

  It wasn’t that she’d talked back to him. She was always allowed to express her opinion.

  It was the attitude, the snark she’d used. The tone.

  The lack of respect.

  If she’d just said, “I’m angry about this, Sir, and really wish you’d reconsider because I’m horny as hell and You promised to play with me,” that likely would have earned her a long, sexy kiss, a hug, a heartfelt apology, and a promise to make it up to her.

  But she’d let her feelings—and her mouth—take over.

  “I’m very disappointed in you, pet,” Tony softly said.

  She cringed. There were a lot of things she could deal with.

  Disappointing him wasn’t one of them.

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Talk to me. Tell me what you did and what you deserve.”

  She swallowed hard, her lips pressed to the top of his boot. “I was disrespectful to You,” she said, barely able to raise her voice above a whisper. “I was rude. In front of our friends. I earned at least twenty cane strokes for my actions.”

  He tapped his right boot once and she changed sides, moving to that boot, kissing it, laying her cheek against it.

  “Twenty? With a cane?” he asked, as if assuring himself that’s what he heard her say.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  They didn’t have many set punishments. Very few, in fact. Tony preferred talking things through like adults. Oh, he’d happily beat her ass for fun, but he considered their relationship more than just fun. It was a lifelong commitment he didn’t want to fuck up.

  This was, however, an old issue for her. It wasn’t the first time in their relationship that she’d let her temper—and her mouth—get the better of her and she said things she wished she could take back.

  She also knew if she asked for the cane he wouldn’t require as many strokes.

  She hoped.

  But asking for twenty of what she knew from experience would be really fucking painful strokes would, hopefully, assuage her guilt and satisfy him.

  All would be forgiven, and life would go on.

  Hopefully with some orgasms for her. And a reminder to her to catch herself before she let her emotions run her mouth.

  Although now that he’d verbalized his disappointment in her behavior, it had taken the edge off her ardor like a damned ice-bucket challenge.

  She hated disappointing him.

  Hated it.

  Haaated it.

  It was one of the r
easons that, even though she wasn’t a masochist, per se, she enjoyed getting a beating. Because she lived and loved to serve him.

  He still didn’t move, didn’t speak. She kept her cheek pressed against his boot. She wouldn’t move until he told her to.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t play tonight, pet,” he said. “It wasn’t deliberate. I felt bad about it, but you didn’t make it any easier on me.”

  She tried to scoot closer, to meld with his boots, to absorb into them. “I know, Sir,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry didn’t begin to cover it. Had he been angry and yelling and screaming, she might not have felt as badly as she did now.

  Tony wasn’t a yeller or a screamer. His quiet, calm demeanor was one of the many things she loved about him. If anything, it made him even more dominant in her mind. Because he didn’t have an obsessive need to push people around or make a point.

  He just…was.

  “If you want me to stop volunteering as a DM, you need to tell me that. Otherwise, one of the responsibilities of my position is that if Derrick needs my help, I give it. As long as work doesn’t interfere. You know that.”

  “I know, Sir.”

  “Do you want me to stop volunteering there?”

  She took a deep breath. “No, Sir. I don’t.” She knew Tony enjoyed it. And to be honest, despite the fact that they had their own private playroom at the house, it was kind of nice having the keys to a dungeon. They had Derrick’s permission to use it during off-hours if they wanted. And, in the past, they had.

  “Then in the future, I expect better behavior from you. Understand? I do not want to have to have this conversation a second time. And if you make me have this conversation a second time, not only will there be punishment from me, but you will have to be the one to return the key to Derrick and explain yourself why I won’t be volunteering there anymore. Understand?”