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  PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF

JOEY West. Hill

"I can't tell you how impressed I am with Hill'south books. Okay, hotter than hell, yes, but Hill manages to do more than that. She doesn't repeat herself even later such a big backlist, and somehow she manages to say something with her books . . . She loves her characters and treats them with respect. This is one hell of a author."

--Angela Knight, New York Times bestselling writer "Joey W. Hill is one of the best authors of erotica for a reason--her exceptional ability to bring together circuitous characters along with gripping romances that circumduct around the world of BDSM . . . When Ms. Loma writes a love scene she brings all of the senses to life."

--Risque Reviews

"This is a scorcher! It's one of those books that keeps the sexual tension on superstrength and leave yous squirming for a resolution."

--The Forbidden Bookshelf

"Joey W. Hill blends the erotic and emotional perfectly . . . providing readers with a gorgeous romance."

--Joyfully Reviewed

"Joey W. Hill's books are most on impossible to define equally each has to be read for itself and each offers the reader something uniquely theirs to relate to. Not but are they great books, they also pick at your soul."

--TwoLips Reviews

"I exercise not expect many erotic romance novels . . . to be total of literary depth or to leave a lasting impression . . . Ms. Hill's cute way with words, impressive plot and evocative characters managed to attain within my heart."

--Colorful Reviews

"Stripping away the emotions and layers . . . Joey West. Loma demonstrates her fantastic ability to develop characters and bring them to life on the pages of her story."

--Just Erotic Romance Reviews

"Fans of Ms. Hill will devour this story and showtime all over once more once the journey is completed. The characters are more than than mere sums of parts on newspaper; they are people who live, breathe, injure, crave and love."

--Long and Brusque Reviews

Berkley Heat titles by Joey W. Hill THE VAMPIRE QUEEN'S Retainer

THE MARK OF THE VAMPIRE QUEEN

A VAMPIRE'S Merits

Beloved VAMPIRE

VAMPIRE MISTRESS

VAMPIRE TRINITY

VAMPIRE INSTINCT

Bound Past THE VAMPIRE QUEEN

TAKEN BY A VAMPIRE

UNRESTRAINED

Berkley Sensation titles by Joey W. Hill A MERMAID'S Buss

A WITCH'S Dazzler

A MERMAID'S RANSOM

SOMETHING Most WITCHES

IN THE Visitor OF WITCHES

Anthologies

LACED WITH Want

(with Jaci Burton, Jasmine Haynes, and Denise Rossetti) UNLACED

(with Jaci Burton, Jasmine Haynes, and Denise Rossetti) Specials

Award Leap

CONTROLLED RESPONSE

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Grouping

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

U.s.a. Canada Uk Ireland Commonwealth of australia New Zealand India South Africa China penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

Copyright (c) 2013 by Joey West. Hill.

Excerpt from Control copyright (c) 2013 by Joey W. Hill.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes complimentary oral communication, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws past not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any role of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to go along to publish books for every reader.

HEAT and the HEAT design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-10163884-two

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Information

Hill, Joey Westward.

Unrestrained / Joey W. Hill.--Heat trade paperback edition.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-425-26068-five

I. Title.

PS3608.I4343L48 2014

813'.6--dc23

2013016046

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Estrus trade paperback edition / December 2013

Cover photograph: Getty.

Cover design by George Long.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author'southward imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or expressionless, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Chapter I

CHAPTER 2

Affiliate 3

Chapter FOUR

CHAPTER V

Chapter SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

Chapter X

Affiliate Xi

Affiliate TWELVE

CHAPTER Xiii

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER Fifteen

CHAPTER 16

Affiliate SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER 18

Affiliate Xix

Affiliate Twenty

Special Excerpt from THE NAUGHTY $.25 NOVELLAS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It'southward impossible to write a book where a SEAL is the hero without researching and attempting to understand the remarkable qualities these individuals have to possess to exercise what they practice. Dale beingness a retired SEAL didn't change that a flake; if anything, my research made it clear that being a SEAL is a land of mind, more of a calling than an occupation.

So my great thanks to Lynn and Lauren for their contacts, guidance and research assistance on this office of the volume. The war machine is a vast subculture, with so many details to get incorrect when writing about them. I respect those in the armed forces profoundly, and wanted to portray Dale accurately. I am grateful to Lynn and Lauren for helping me do that. Since Lauren indicated she "actually, really loved information technology" when I inflicted the whole manuscript upon her for a beta read, I hope that reflects success (laughter).

Another vital function of the volume was addressing the daily challenges of beingness an amputee. Every bit a person fortunate plenty to have two whole legs, I couldn't anticipate all the things this affects, like taking a shower, picking up someone to carry them--fifty-fifty the way a person takes off or puts on wearing apparel (an important effect in an erotic romance--grinning). So I extend my deepest gratitude to Sue for her personal insights on all these matters, big and small. She endured phone calls that were similar mini-interrogation sessions and also beta read the whole affair for me to ensure I didn't miss annihilation. Thank you, Sue! (BTW: I put in the brownie comment just for you lot.) I also thank Lynn and Lauren for checking with their military machine/veteran contacts on this, particularly issues related to benefits, et cetera.

A final quick note: I of the research sources Lynn provided me was former Navy SEAL Marcus Luttrell's amazing volume Service. Dale'southward "gunkhole story" is a modified version of a truthful incident in Mr. Luttrell's volume. Though that book and my other SEAL resources gave me so much data that developed Dale's overall personality, I wished to acknowledge my thank you for that specific case to demonstrate how they handle the difficult things they do.

As e'er, whatsoever errors I've fabricated on any of the above or other details are entirely my fault, and I give thanks all of these folks and sources, likewise as my usual beta readers and Berkley editing squad, for helping to make this a far better book than it would be without them. If I've missed anyone, please forgive the oversight. An author never does information technology alone!

ONE

The starting time time she stepped in

to a BDSM club, it felt like home. Surprised wasn't the right word for her reaction. Surprise was what one felt toward a party thrown in ane'due south honor, planned on the sly by someone else. When she stepped into that dim environment, inhaled the intangible layers of want and need intertwined with the surface scents of tears and sweat, perfume and leather, her unconscious revealed the secret it had kept for and then long. This was where she belonged. It rose up into her chest, an unexpected condolement and validation. Ironic, given that she hadn't been in that location for herself. Not essentially.

Roy had talked her into giving it a try. He wanted to have the play they did in the privacy of their home into a unimposing simply more than populated globe. It had mattered to him, so she'd prepared herself to accept it, no matter how sordid information technology might cease up beingness.

Everyone knew New Orleans had a seedy side. No ane bothered to call information technology an "underside," since it was broadly displayed in the French Quarter at all hours of the mean solar day, and it had worsened since Katrina, when more of the city'due south criminal element shifted into that department. Merely then she found there was an actual underworld, and the darkness in that location was heated, welcoming. Non seedy at all. The perspiration gleaming on marked skin, the cries of pleasure and pain, the glitter of eyes in the dim light, the energy that pulsed in Society Release similar its own ability source . . . information technology reminded her of what she'd felt in some of the quondam churches in the city.

That connectedness had come much later, when Roy got ill. Occasionally at that place would exist things at the company she had to handle in person, and so she'd get out him with his nurse for the bare minimum time necessary. One 24-hour interval, on the way back dwelling house, she obeyed an impulse driven by simple weariness of spirit and allowed herself a fifteen-minute detour into a small Cosmic church. It had a trio of archways beckoning the true-blue, and the smell of stone and wood over a hundred years old. She'd sat in the sanctuary, stilling her heed, letting everything go for those precious few moments. She realized the ambiance that compelled hushed voices, a still soul, was like what she felt in the club. There was too euphoria, a contained joy, the best kind to feel. Things always felt more intense when restrained. She'd seen it in how Roy reacted to information technology, though she'd never experienced it firsthand.

Though she didn't share why she'd stopped at the church, non wanting him to worry most her, she'd shared that comparison with Roy. He smiled at her, nodded, his eyes yet bright in the gaunt face. They remained bright until the concluding few days, when he slipped into that pre-death, morphine blackout so mutual to cancer patients. At the stop, she'd whispered in his ear, commanded him to allow get. She told him that she'd exist all right, that his Mistress would always love him. He would like her putting information technology in those terms, she knew. So his Mistress let him go, even as his married woman sat at his bedside, clutching his paw, the loneliness closing around her when his breath stopped and he obeyed her.

"Want another i?"

She returned to the present and Jimmy, who ran the bar at Lodge Release. He'd fatigued her back out of herself. Since information technology was a private society run every bit a nonprofit membership grouping, they didn't serve alcohol, but they had a skillful pick of drinks, everything from chili pepper cocoa to lemonade or O'Doul'due south. He gave her glass a significant glance. "I can peak that to two-thirds, Lady Mistress, and then you can slip in a little more of that vodka you lot don't think I'm seeing."

She gave him a faint smile. "My sleight of hand'south out of exercise."

"Naw. You simply know that I already know. And y'all're deplorable tonight." He hesitated, put his hand on the bar adjacent to hers, no contact, but the offer of connection was there. "Yous know, it'due south been over two years. Dillon and Seth are easygoing, gentle subs. Either 1 of them would assist you break the dry spell. It'southward no dissimilar for us than it is for a vanilla person going on that first date. It might even be a little easier, because they saw you piece of work with Roy and know how y'all operate. You can tell me 'close up, bitch' if I'm way off base, but I can't help only feel you lot're looking for something."

"Maybe. I'll think virtually information technology." It wasn't the first time he'd suggested it, though he hadn't been as blunt in the past. Information technology as well wasn't the first time she'd given that noncommittal response.

When she started coming back here, a few months ago, they'd let her lack of participation pass without comment. They'd known her and Roy in a style no one else did, which meant Club Release offered a unique type of sanctuary. However, not only was she no longer playing, she was hardly watching when she showed up. She but closed her optics and listened, using the club's sounds as the soundtrack to her ain personal retentiveness reel. It was bound to invite more pointed comments after a while. Sometimes it could exist a pain in the ass, people knowing certain parts of you also well . . . and other parts non at all.

Yeah, she'd felt at home here, with Roy. But it was equally if she'd lost weight and the mirror showed a core version of herself that other layers had bearded. It made her think it was fourth dimension to put downwardly the whip and exercise something different. Be on the other side of the whip. Craving the lash, the pain . . . the release.

The beginning time that thought crystallized in her mind'due south eye, refusing to be shrouded, information technology had startled her. She wasn't used to analyzing and thinking about herself in a solitary way. It was always in relation to something else, someone else. Roy, first and foremost, and then a hundred others lined up after him. Family members, the community, business.

Though this was when she unremarkably would pay her tab and go domicile, she didn't want Jimmy to pry further, so she would make an effort. She rose, picking up her drink, and wandered into the Fortress of Solitude. In this section of the club, no talking was allowed. A safe gesture replaced a safe word, and submissives were gagged. Their bodies, optics, and faces broadcast what was happening to them. A Master or Mistress ordered them through bear on: a hand on their shoulder to guide them to a restraint, a tug of the leash, a pressure to put them on their hands and knees. Information technology was a expert place to avoid conversation.

With information technology being Tuesday night, she'd hoped no 1 would be in in that location, that the few members in omnipresence had gravitated toward the more social rooms, which besides had more than popular equipment. Her hopes were short-lived.

At least it was merely one couple, a Chief and his female sub. She didn't recognize the Dom, merely she hadn't been to the gild in over a month, also busy with other things. He wore a blackness eyemask and bandanna knotted at his nape. Together, they hid all of his features except his mouth, the line of his jaw. He wore tight black gloves.

Practitioners of BDSM came from all walks of life, many of them boilerplate Janes and Joes whose unremarkable facets became polished gems when their true natures sparkled in these rooms. She'd seen it happen with lean Goths, bikers, comfortable middle-form types, military, and then those like her. Her infallibly ladylike demeanor, the erstwhile Southern money roots she couldn't and wouldn't endeavor to muffle, had earned her the nickname Jimmy had spoken tonight. Lady Mistress.

Despite the various club population, she was fairly sure she'd never seen a Master quite like this one. Unless information technology was in 1 of the confusing, erotic dreams that had been teasing the edges of her slumber of belatedly, dreams she didn't experience comfortable sharing fifty-fifty in this venue. Peradventure especially in this venue.

She'd handled fund-raising for the USO charity brawl three years running. During that fourth dimension, she'd go friendly with a variety of military wives. One night she and Roy had the pleasure of hosting a dinner party for them and their spouses. Several of the husbands were Navy SEALs. She'd noted a unique postage to the way they carried themselves, the await in their eyes. On top of that, each had an impressive physique. Information technology was understandable since, in the SEALs, the torso was pushed to the max in terms of endurance, speed and force. One of the wives told Athena that many of the men, even those who'd never been injured, ended up requiring some inability benefits past the end of their career, due to the punishing demands on joints, muscles, skeletal system.

"They never quit. They just go until the body is completely worn out." The married woman had said information technology half jokingly, though her eyes had followed her husband with that combination of violent dearest and tranquillity acceptance armed forces wives had to possess for the wedlock to final.

Thi

s Master had that unique stamp to him. If Athena was correct and he was a SEAL, he definitely wasn't at that worn-out bespeak. The black jeans and unmarked black T-shirt defined a body that said he was capable of pretty much any physical demand. She wondered at his historic period, his hair color. He wore silverish-tipped cowboy boots. There was no other ornament on him. His concentration was on the adult female dependent on his mercy.

If information technology wasn't a Tuesday, with such sparse omnipresence, she expected he would have had far more of an audition, but maybe that was why he preferred a quiet weeknight. Maybe he considered her as much of an intrusion as she'd initially considered him. Merely though Athena sensed his awareness of her presence, he didn't seem distracted by information technology.

Willow, his submissive, was a regular at the club, one who craved heavy punishment from a Main, hence the pseudonym. A willow bent under any penalisation, only didn't break. She was tied spread hawkeye to an upright metallic frame. This room had several frames like that, as well as a pegboard of whips, floggers, paddles, thumpers and elementary restraint options. The Fortress of Solitude tended to attract those who preferred to employ the basics and let psychological domination do the residuum.

At the moment, this Master was utterly still. He held a pikestaff in one large hand, the end resting in the half-curled palm of the other, while his gaze coursed over his captive's body. Willow was stripped to the peel, which would be a viewing pleasure for anyone watching, simply his trunk language said that was irrelevant to him. Even more than importantly, it told Willow she was stripped for his pleasance lone.

He stood with feet evenly braced, T-shirt pulling beyond his shoulders and chest, his ass and thigh muscles taut beneath the mold of the denim. The tilt of his head, equally if he was listening to something no one else could hear, fabricated the dominion of silence not a guideline, merely a mandate that would incur punishment if broken. Athena wet her lips.

His profile could have been etched from granite, his jaw looked that resilient. She wanted to meet the rest of his confront. She idea he'd be dark haired, because the scattering of hair on his arms was dark, and his five-o'clock shadow was a blue-black that made a woman call back of pirates. Since the shadowing in the room made it impossible to determine his eye color, she imagined them every bit greenish, then brown or blue. A night bluish, like a cold body of water, hiding pleasures and dangers both.

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