Their Ruthless Sadist Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Nicole Edwards Book list

  Dedication

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  E-book

  Acknowledgments

  About Nicole Edwards

  Nicole Edwards on Smashwords

  THEIR RUTHLESS

  SADIST

  OFFICE INTRIGUE, 5

  NICOLE EDWARDS

  The Alluring Indulgence Series

  Kaleb

  Zane

  Travis

  Holidays with the Walker Brothers

  Ethan

  Braydon

  Sawyer

  Brendon

  The Walkers of Coyote Ridge Series

  Curtis

  Jared

  Hard to Hold

  Hard to Handle

  Beau

  The Austin Arrows Series

  Rush

  Kaufman

  The Club Destiny Series

  Conviction

  Temptation

  Addicted

  Seduction

  Infatuation

  Captivated

  Devotion

  Perception

  Entrusted

  Adored

  Distraction

  The Dead Heat Ranch Series

  Boots Optional

  Betting on Grace

  Overnight Love

  Jared

  The Devil’s Bend Series

  Chasing Dreams

  Vanishing Dreams

  The Office Intrigue Series

  Office Intrigue

  Intrigued Out of the Office

  Their Rebellious Submissive

  Their Famous Dominant

  Their Ruthless Sadist

  The Pier 70 Series

  Reckless

  Fearless

  Speechless

  Harmless

  Clueless

  The Sniper 1 Security Series

  Wait for Morning

  Never Say Never

  Tomorrow’s Too Late

  The Southern Boy Mafia/Devil’s Playground Series

  Beautifully Brutal

  Without Regret

  Beautifully Loyal

  Without Restraint

  Standalone Novels

  Unhinged Trilogy

  A Million Tiny Pieces

  Inked on Paper

  Bad Reputation

  Bad Business

  Naughty Holiday Editions

  2015

  2016

  Dedication

  TO TUG JAMES.

  YOU ARE MOST DEFINITELY MY ZEKE. ONLY SWEETER.

  IT’S A TRUE HONOR TO CALL YOU FRIEND.

  Nicole Edwards Limited

  PO Box 806

  Hutto, Texas 78634

  Copyright © Nicole Edwards, 2018

  All rights reserved.

  This is a self-published title.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  THEIR RUTHLESS SADIST – An Office Intrigue novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Image: © Wander Aguiar | wanderbookclub.com

  Cover model: Tug James

  Cover Design: © Nicole Edwards Limited

  Editing: Blue Otter Editing

  ISBN (ebook): 978-1-939786-99-9

  ISBN (print): 978-1-939786-97-5

  BDSM Menage Romance

  Mature Audiences

  PROLOGUE

  ZEKE

  THIS WAS MY SAFE HAVEN.

  This was where I fit in.

  This was the one place I could go where I didn’t get wary eyes pinning me in place, curious as to whether I was going to do some serious damage.

  I was used to those looks, the ones from strangers who weren’t sure what to do with the man who didn’t buy his clothes off the rack because even the big-and-tall store didn’t know how to outfit six foot eight inches, two hundred eighty pounds of solid muscle.

  No, here in the club, I was the giant with a sadistic streak a mile wide, a Dominant every masochist hoped would look his or her way. I was the king in this particular realm, the man who wielded all the power.

  And just like every other time I was in the club, I gauged the submissive pool, wondering which of these eager fuck toys would become my plaything for the evening. I would bring at least one to tears tonight, of that I had no doubt. It was my mission, my goal in life. I wanted to break them, to hear them beg and plead, tears streaming down their faces as I brutalized them the way they fantasized about.

  Some people craved sugar. I craved doling out pain.

  While they were prancing around in an attempt to catch my attention, I was trying to figure out which submissive could handle me. Even if only for a few minutes. Which one I wouldn’t cause irreparable damage.

  I had yet to meet the one who could endure the darkest side of me. I figured one day I would find him, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

  “Master Zeke?”

  I turned to see a sweet little fluff of a girl with wild eyes and glossy lips, weighing in at a buck five soaking wet. I knew without asking what she wanted from me. This one wanted a firm hand, someone to smack her ass and make her beg for mercy while she giggled and pleaded for more. If I had to guess, she’d heard about me, knew the pain I ached to bestow, and she hoped to experience it for herself.

  I knew her type. She was too soft, too sweet. No way would she allow me to have my way with her, to treat her like a piece of furniture, to manhandle her before I breached her virgin ass with my nine-inch cock. Hell, her ass wasn’t even as big as my fucking hand. I would likely fracture her if I attempted to spank her the way I needed.

  She couldn’t handle me on her best fucking day.

  Those big eyes peered up at me full of hopeful anticipation. She wanted the big, bad Sadist to toss her around a little, then pull her close and shower her with praise and attention.

  I was not that man.

  “Sorry, sweetheart. Not in this lifetime.” I shooed her away with a flick of my hand, dashing that hope in an instant. She wasn’t my type.

  Not only did I want a man, I needed a man. One with power and stamina, hide as tough as leather, an ass made to be plowed, a throat strong enough to take the brutal pounding of my cock.

  A scene caught my eye and I sauntered over, crossing my arms over my chest as I stared over the heads of the other bystanders. I couldn’t see the submissive’s face because he was facing away from me, his hands cuffed above his head, legs spread, ankles chained to hooks in the floor. Long limbs, thick muscle, juicy ass.

  It was the tattoo blazed across his back that caught my attention. A dragon rose up along his spine, wide body curling over his shoulder blade, the head disappearing on his other side, lying over his chest.

  I knew this because it was a tattoo I’d seen before.

  Recently, in fact.

  I watched as the baby Dom laid the flogger tails across the submissive’s broad shoulders, hitting hard enough to thud but not nearly hard enough to leave a mark. The submissive’s body was rigid, but not from shock or pain.

  “What’s your color, sub?” the baby Dom questioned.

  Sadist Rule One: Colors are for kindergartners.

  “Green, Sir,” the submissive said with a bored monotone that would’ve been obvious to an infant.

  “You want more?” the baby Dom asked.

  Sadist Rule Two: Don’t ask what they want.

  “Yes, Sir,” he replied, no inflection in his tone.

  The baby Dom swung the tails again and again, over the man’s ass, the backs of his thighs. There was no power in his swing, no effort to inflict pain whatsoever. It was the equivalent of a fucking massage.

  “Tell me when you’ve had enough,” the baby Dom told the submissive.

  Who the hell was this asshole and where did he think he was? This submissive wasn’t here to play Twenty Questions. Dominants didn’t ask permission, they set up the structure beforehand, had a plan and an end goal. A good Dominant didn’t ask them what they wanted. A good Domina
nt merely gave it to them because that was what they needed.

  After a few more swings, the baby Dom turned and I noticed he was covered in sweat. He’d been at this a while from the looks of it. His eyes met mine and I instantly recognized the respect there. I got it everywhere I went. Not because of my size, either. I’d earned it. And I’d come to expect it.

  “Master Zeke,” he said, grabbing a bottle of water while he clearly took a break.

  Sadist Rule Three: A submissive should not wear out the Dom.

  Yeah. Fine. I just made that one up.

  I nodded to the sweaty baby Dom, but my eyes shifted back to the submissive. I could envision myself standing behind him with my whip, applying the stinging burn from the knotted ends that would have him jerking and twitching, his cock so hard he could hardly breathe from the need to come.

  That thirty-five-tail deerskin flogger the baby Dom wielded was the equivalent of a feather as far as this particular masochist was concerned. An attentive Dominant would’ve known that.

  I glanced back at the baby Dom, who was clearly out of sorts, unsure what to do to make this submissive beg.

  “Hit him harder,” I said, the deep rumble of my voice causing several heads to turn my way.

  “What?” The baby Dom appeared confused. “I’ve been at it for thirty minutes. He’s not in the right mindset.”

  Mindset, my ass. That was a Dom’s excuse as to how he’d fucked up a scene.

  “You’re not hittin’ him hard enough.” I turned my attention back to the restrained man. “He’s not a goddamn toddler. Hit him harder.”

  The baby Dom clearly didn’t like that I was correcting him. Not that I gave a fuck. It was a Dominant’s responsibility to see to the needs of his submissive. This fucker was failing in every respect.

  “Think you can do better?” the baby Dom taunted.

  I jerked my gaze over and cocked an eyebrow. This time, his tone lacked any respect whatsoever. Normally, I would shrug it off, but there was something about this situation that didn’t sit right with me.

  “I don’t think I can. I know.” The crowd parted as I moved forward. When the baby Dom held out his little toy, I chuckled. “Your five-and-dime toy’s useless.”

  The baby Dom huffed, then turned to walk away.

  “Uh-uh,” I snarled. “You stay and watch.” I leaned in closer to him, keeping my voice low so no one else could hear. “And don’t you ever disrespect me again. Understood?”

  The baby Dom’s eyes widened, but he managed a jerky nod.

  “Good.” I turned my back to him and focused my attention on the masochist.

  Wanting to get a feel for the submissive’s state of mind, I walked over and pressed myself against his back, leaning down and putting my mouth close to his ear.

  “Tell me what you need, pretty boy.”

  The pretty boy’s head shifted only slightly. “Pain, Zeke. I need pain.”

  “Do you want me to deliver it? And remember, I don’t provide aftercare. I’ll ensure you fly, but I won’t bring you down after.”

  “Yes,” he said on a breathless moan. “Yes, Zeke. I want you to deliver it.”

  “Tell me your safe word.”

  “Red, Zeke.”

  “I trust you to use it should you need it.”

  He nodded and I stepped back, allowing my gaze to run the length of his naked form as I retrieved the whip I had attached to my belt.

  It was time to show the pussy Dom exactly how to handle a masochist.

  And it was time to show this squirrelly pretty boy exactly what it meant to submit to me.

  The question was…

  Could the pretty boy handle it?

  Later that evening…

  After spending the past couple of hours keeping an eye on things in the dungeon, I opted for a break. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy watching Ransom Bishop commandeer two wayward submissives and make them beg for mercy. The man was almost as ruthless as I was. Almost being the key word. No one was as ruthless as me.

  However, I did make it a habit to observe the technique of others. While Ransom had yet to find what he was looking for, his tastes ran alongside mine. He was looking for a male who had a penchant for the darker side of kink and he didn’t waste his time with the sissies who were hoping to cuddle. I appreciated that about him.

  Unfortunately, after the scene with the pretty boy earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to take another submissive tonight. For whatever reason, my needs had grown exponentially as of late and I feared I couldn’t slake my lust regardless. No sense wasting precious energy.

  So, after passing off my monitor duties to one of the others, I headed to the bar, downed a couple of bottles of water, and kept my eye on the riffraff moving through the club. It didn’t surprise me that I grew bored with that quickly.

  Of course, now I had to take a piss, so I wandered through the club, up two flights of stairs, nodding my acknowledgment whenever someone greeted me.

  Once I made it to the restroom, it didn’t take long to relieve my bladder. As I was washing my hands, I heard a noise in the men’s showers.

  An interesting noise.

  One that consisted of several deep groans followed by a couple of gasps, somewhat masked by the sound of running water echoing in the small stall.

  Figuring some asshole had snuck his girl into the men’s showers, I decided to take a look. While this was a kink club and there wasn’t much they didn’t allow, it was against club rules for women to be in the men’s locker rooms and vice versa. They had the use of two entire floors; no sense for them to be in here.

  As I moved down the rows of tile-walled shower stalls, the sounds grew louder.

  “Fuck, yes. Oh, shit. Don’t stop.”

  “Trust me, I don’t plan to.”

  Okay, so neither of those voices were female.

  I continued on until I came to the very end. The grunts and groans were coming from the other side of the plastic curtain and it didn’t take long to realize there wasn’t a female in there. If there was, she was being damn quiet. And based on how verbal they were being, she would be a waste of breath and space. They clearly didn’t need a woman to take care of them.

  Since there was no rule against men fraternizing in the showers, I started to turn and go.

  “Harder, Brax. Fuck me harder. I need … more.”

  I stopped midstride, my spine straightening.

  There was only one Brax who was a member of this club. Braxton McBride, the masochist I’d come to think of as the cowboy.

  “Did he hurt you?” the cowboy asked.

  And if that was the cowboy, there was only one other man who would be in there with him. Case Rhinehart. The pretty boy I’d beat on earlier.

  “Yes. And it was so fucking good. But I need to come. Fuck, Brax. Make me come.”

  On the other side of that curtain, the cowboy and the pretty boy were releasing some pent-up energy. And the man who hurt him so fucking good was me. My ego liked that he’d admitted it.

  I should’ve continued walking. It would’ve made more sense. I had no business fucking with either of them. While I couldn’t deny I’d had a few raunchy fantasies about beating on them, I knew better.

  But walking away wasn’t an option. That wasn’t the sort of man I was.

  I knew what these two were looking for, and I knew for damn sure they wouldn’t find it in each other. I couldn’t care less if they fucked each other senseless. Sometimes, it was necessary to take the edge off. In the same sense, they would walk out of that shower still needing what the other wasn’t capable of giving.

  Slowly walking backward those few steps, I reached for the curtain and yanked it back, the metal rings screeching along the metal bar.

  Both men’s eyes flew up to me as my brain registered the scene before me: the pretty boy bent over, hands on the wall, while the cowboy stood behind him, his cock lodged to the hilt in the pretty boy’s ass, his hands gripping his hips firmly.

  I wouldn’t be thinking of the pretty boy as Case or the cowboy as Brax. As far as I was concerned, they were fuck toys with no names.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I spread my feet wide, squared off, and stared at them. “Don’t stop.” I ensured they heard the command in my tone.

  Neither man moved.

  “Unless you intend to use your safe word? Is that the case, pretty boy?”

  “No, Zeke,” the pretty boy ground out, his voice edged with lust.