His Forbidden Submissive Read Free

nothing more than the thought of her name, illicit thoughts of his sister-in-law filled his mind. Viv was everything he’d ever desired in a partner. Kind, strong-willed, vivacious and so full of life her smile could light Times Square for a year. And it still pissed him off his uptight brother had found her first.
    The fucking prick.
    How the hell was it possible to love someone and yet hate his lying, slimy, good-for-nothing ass at the same time? Life would be so much simpler if Brock could just hate the bastard, none of this wishy-washy, namby-pamby bullshit. But try as he might, Brock couldn’t sever the few, lingering positive emotions he still harbored for his big brother, despite the plethora of reasons he had to hate the man, reasons that didn’t all revolve around his sister-in-law.
    Although Viv was at the center of quite a few of them.
    “Fuck.” Frustration forced Brock to his feet. That was the last straw, the final distraction. He needed out of here for a while, and he needed out now . He needed to find a place to refuel and get his fucking head on straight, and he knew the perfect place.
    Restrained Fantasies.
    Making an appearance at the club he co-owned with his buddy Stephen—or “The sub Maker” to those who really knew him—was just what the doctor ordered. Sustenance and sex. Yes, the duo might be enough to banish thoughts of Viv for an hour or two.
    But he wasn’t holding his breath.
    He made a beeline for his trusty Harley. On the way through his mud room, he grabbed his leather riding jacket from a coat hook. Leather wasn’t a fashion statement saved for the club. For him, it was practically a second skin—well, third if he added his tats to the equation.
    His Hog sat nose first toward the garage door, right alongside the ridiculously expensive Ferrari he’d purchased in Italy eight months ago then thoroughly tested on the German autobahns. Yet another move on his part to nurse a broken heart, but sports cars and absurd speeds were poor replacements for the woman he loved.
    “Damn it.” He yanked on his jacket. He had to stop thinking about her. He and Viv weren’t meant to be. End of fucking story. It was past time he accepted that fact and found a permanent way to purge her from his memory.
    Once and for all.
    He straddled his ride, squeezed the clutch with his left hand and hit the start button with his right. With that familiar growl that always made him feel alive, his baby rumbled to life. A quick cycling of the bike’s high beams sent the garage door lurching up. Best damn garage door opener ever. He grabbed his helmet from—
    Holy motherfucking shit.
    Vivian?
    His heart lurched and stuttered. His eyelids slammed down. No fucking way. Vivian Michaels was not standing in his driveway. His mind was playing tricks on him. Was visually conjuring her the next logical progression in his insanity?
    He opened his eyes again but she was still there, standing next to a Cadillac SUV, which didn’t look a tenth as sleek as its owner. A dark-blue dress clung to her toned, lithe body like a second skin. Her treatments had taken their toll on all her luscious curves but she was well on her way to getting them all back. Her dress had no sleeves, not much of a skirt either, just a swatch of material covering all the good parts.
    What a damn shame.
    A dark-red satchel hung from her shoulder. Ultra-short black hair framed a slender face with high cheekbones, plump lips and the most arresting violet eyes he’d ever seen. He loved the bizarre color, so unique, just like Viv.
    In other words, she was as wet-dream sexy as ever.
    His groin tightened faster than a bullet exploding from the barrel of a gun. She was every one of his fantasies wrapped up in one perfect little package.
    A package who belongs to your brother, asshole.
    And speaking of assholes, apprehension tingled Brock’s spine. Was Eugene the reason for Viv’s visit? Had his brother sent his irresistibly sexy wife to spy on the