Conviction Read online

  Conviction

  NYC Doms

  Jane Henry

  Contents

  Untitled

  Untitled

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Bonus material

  Stay in touch!

  About the Author

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  CONVICTION (NYC Doms)

  By: Jane Henry

  Copyright 2018 by Jane Henry

  Please do not share or distribute in any way.

  Chapter 1

  Braxton

  I’m pretty sure it’s a total dickhead move to mentally undress the woman on the dance floor in front of me, but, you know, love is in the air and all that shit, so I don’t much care. I came here to toast the happy couple who, like smart people, went and eloped months ago. Their friends were a little miffed they didn’t get a chance to celebrate, so once spring came Zack and Bea announced they were having a reception. I’m always game for something that involves free food and liberal amounts of beer, so here I am, even dressed in a fucking suit which hasn’t happened since… ok, ever.

  But Jesus, this woman’s gorgeous, and likely young enough to make even looking at her illegal, but who’s gonna stop me? She’s got a dancer’s blood in her veins or something, because this girl has moves. As the music pumps through speakers so loudly I feel it in my bones, her hips grind in time to the beat, and it’s fucking beautiful. I’m half in awe of her energy, unable to take my eyes off her. Though she’s all round curves—petite but voluptuous, her creamy shoulders bare, the sleeveless short dress she’s wearing clearly being held up my magic—she’s got edges, too. I can tell just looking at her there’s a ferocity that fuels her. On her right shoulder she’s got a tattoo of a bird in flight. While I watch her dance, I fantasize about sinking my teeth into that tattoo, then smacking my hand against her curvy, gorgeous ass. She shakes her head, the thick locks of chestnut-colored hair loosening, little tendrils clinging to her damp forehead as she gets down to the music. The beat gyrates around me as she wiggles her hips, her feet moving in time to the crazy-ass beat.

  “Hey, Brax, have you seen Diana?” My friend Tobias comes up to me and taps my beer bottle with his. Diana, his wife and Beatrice’s best friend, toasted the happy couple, but I haven’t seen her since.

  “No, man,” I say, shaking my head. I take another swig of my beer, then watch the girl in front of me as she snags one of her friends around the waist and they dance together. Christ. One was bad enough. Two of them dancing together? I’ll leave this place with fucking blue balls.

  “Get it out of your head, man,” Tobias says. “Can’t get your eyes off Zoe? That won’t end well for you. Don’t even entertain the thought.” Tobias is technically my boss, but also my friend, and though I trust his judgment, I don’t hear warning in his tone but a dare.

  “Yeah?” I ask, watching her even more intently now.

  “Braxton,” he says warningly.

  “What? Dude, you can’t just say ‘stop looking at the most gorgeous woman in this room and forget about her’ and expect me be all, ‘yeah, sounds right, whatever you say.’ Did you forget who I am?”

  Tobias sobers then. He leans against the bar, crossing his arms on his chest, and fixes me with a serious look. His dark brown eyes, shadowed by a shock of dark brown hair that falls on his forehead, darken. “That’s one of Zack’s best friends, and she’s an officer with the NYPD. She’s easily ten years younger than you, and I don’t know much, but I know that girl has got a shit ton of baggage.”

  Who doesn’t? The idea of that woman kicking the crap out of someone makes her that much more attractive to me. And Jesus. Baggage? That doesn’t dissuade me. I live in fucking New York City. There’s no such thing as a New Yorker without baggage. Hell, I’m a classic example. I sold my auto body shop this past winter when a friend offered me a job that paid a hell of a lot more than I was currently earning. I’m a full time Dungeon Monitor at Tobias’s club, Verge, and I make good money there. Picking up some private work on the side has supplemented my income, and hell I need it, because Devin does, and child support doesn’t go on sale. The thought of my six-year-old daughter almost sobers me, then the music shifts and Zoe’s back at it again.

  “Everyone’s got baggage, man,” I say to Tobias. “You know I’m no exception.”

  He shakes his head. “Brax, there’s baggage and then there’s baggage. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t know shit about the lifestyle, and if you touch a hair on her head, Beatrice or Zack, or possibly even both of them, will kick your ass. They’ve gotten tight.”

  Beatrice is like five foot nothing and now married to the sternest Dom in all of Verge. That’s supposed to scare me? I know Zack won’t care.

  “Fuck,” Tobias says, watching me with narrowed eyes as I finish my beer and plunk the empty on the counter. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I grin at him. “Challenge accepted.”

  Chapter 2

  Zoe

  I throw back another shot of Fireball, the sweet, fiery liquid coursing down my throat and into my gut, my head deliciously light and my body practically floating. I’m starting to feel a little woozy, but it’s a feeling I’ve gotten comfortable with. I’ve somehow managed to obliterate the memories that plague me and after a while, all that shit blends together into one big mess of pain that I seek to blur with alcohol. I’m responsible enough to never drink on the job, of course, and I’m a normal, law-abiding citizen. But on a night of celebration like this? I let things go because I’ll grab a cab home.

  I’m happy as I can be for Beatrice and Zack but seeing how he is with her leaves me a little wistful. He looks at her as if she’s the most precious thing he’s ever laid eyes on, his treasure.

  I’m not into Zack. Not that way. We’re nothing but buddies, and I trust the man with my life. Even though he’s moved up on the force and become a detective, we’re still tight. So it isn’t him that I want, or even Beatrice that I’m jealous of. I want what they have, and it stings being alone. So tonight? I drink. I’ll blur the memories of the past that keep me up at night and numb the pain with shot after shot.

  I’m off duty, so tonight, I answer to no one. Tomorrow, my head might ache, but tonight I’ll rule the world.

  And then I see him. He towers over me, all brawn and muscle, dressed in a light blue shirt that matches his eyes, his head is shaved, giving him an edge that makes my pulse race. His gaze meets mine across the room, and he grins at me, a dimple forming in his cheek.

  God, I want to lick that dimple.

  Without conscious thought, I shift my body so as I dance to the music, I dance for him, my hips swaying, chest heaving. I love dancing and always have, but it takes a few drinks to get me into it. I watch as he uncrosses his arms. Excitement curls in my belly as he prowls toward me. I quickly glance over my shoulder. Is he looking at someone else? He has to be. Someone who’s… pretty.

  But there’s just a couple dancing with their backs to me, and when I turn back to him, I can tell he’s laughing by the way his shoulders quake. He shakes his head from side to side and points an index finger directly at me. By now he’s close enough I can hear what he says.

  “No, baby. You.”

  Baby? A shiver of excit
ement courses through me. No one ever calls me baby. Jesus, I need another shot. He’s so close now I can see his eyes are a sapphire blue, he has not one but two dimples, and he’s way, way bigger than I thought at first. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, which is kinda hard to do since I’m still dancing. He steps closer to me, slings his huge hand to the small of my back, and without a word, pulls me to him. When his hand touches me, a vibration of lust thrums through my body, his touch firm and possessive. We dance as if this song had been written for us, choreographed with precision, my steps in time with his, our bodies a crush of heat and tension that thrills me.

  He grabs my hand and spins me out, and I twirl, feeling like a princess for the three seconds it takes him to spin me back into him, the beat of the music booming through my body like thunder. With a sharp tug, my body brushes his from torso to hips. His touch is possessive, his heat magnetic, and I suddenly need to kiss him before the music stops.

  I meet his eyes boldly, get up on my tiptoes, and wrap my hands around his massive shoulders. He doesn’t need any more of a hint. Our movements slow and the music seems to slow with them, the crowd fading as he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls my hair back, a sharp tug I feel all the way between my thighs, my panties already damp.

  What the hell is he doing? No man has ever touched me like this. My mouth falls open with a gasp, and he makes his move, claiming my mouth with his. My heart hammers so loudly I swear it rivals the music. Lights flash behind my eyes. I blame the whiskey, but this moment is like it was lifted straight out of a movie, and I don’t want it to end.

  His tongue, hot and insistent, traces the edge of my lower lip. I have no power over myself, and yield without conscious thought, melting into him, my body sliding easily against his. I realize with a shock, I don’t even know his name. Who am I? Where are we?

  I’m on a rollercoaster and I can’t get off, too caught up in the speed and force of my heart. The heat of his body turns my insides to liquid as he draws a moan from somewhere deep inside me. When he pulls away I whimper at the loss, grasping his shoulders as I stand on tiptoe, my eyes meeting his blue ones in shock, arousal, and wonder.

  “Who are you?” I whisper through swollen lips, my voice strangely slurred and husky. He only grins, those two adorable dimples making my heart flutter in my chest.

  “You first,” he says. “Your name?”

  “Zoe,” I breathe.

  He bends his head down so he can hear me. “Zoe?” He chuckles. “Of course it is. A name as cute as the woman owning it. I’m Brax.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a smile, then a flash of white over his shoulder catches my attention. It’s Beatrice, wearing a fitted white dress and waving her hand at me, her eyes as wide as saucers. The room spins a little, and I’m vaguely aware of alarm in her eyes. She mouths something, but we’re so far apart I couldn’t catch it even if I was sober. She throws back her head back in exasperation and whips out a cell phone, pointing her finger at it. A second later, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I blow her a kiss and turn my back to her.

  “Getting kinda hot in here,” he says, and even though it’s such a classic pick-up line, I fall like an anchor thrown overboard. I’m sunk, and I’m not resurfacing now. “You wanna go someplace quiet where we can talk?”

  “Can we still dance?” I ask coyly.

  “Yeah, baby. I’ll take you to where we can dance.” He reaches for my hand, warm and strong and secure. I can’t help it. A little part of me yearns for that, and I pull a little closer to him without meaning to. “But Zoe, one thing you need to know.”

  “Yeah?”

  He pulls me away from the crowd, toward a deserted hallway. My phone buzzing like crazy but I silence it.

  Leaning in, his deep voice tickles my ear. “If you’re with me, the only one you dance like that for is me. You get me?”

  I laugh like a woman possessed and trot to keep up with his long strides. “Oh yeah,” I agree, realizing that I’m leaving the party with a stranger.

  When we got out of the crush of people and into the hallway, I shiver a little. I’d gotten used to the warmth, being surrounded by others, and the vacant hall holds a chill.

  “You got a coat or something?”

  “Oh, somewhere, I think,” I say, waving a vague hand in the general direction of the coat closet. My mind is a weird haze of confusion, and I can’t for the life of me remember what I brought with me or where I put it. I have my wristlet and my phone, so I’m not really forgetting anything terribly important.

  “You think?” he asks, eyeing me curiously.

  “I’ve, um, had a few shots.”

  He chuckles. “I can see that.”

  “And my memory’s a little… shall we say… hazy.”

  “Uh huh. So do you mean to tell me that tomorrow you’ll forget we even met?”

  No. No, Mister Mystery Man, no one would ever forget those blue eyes or dimples or the way your voice slides over me like silk.

  “I don’t know,” I say, an uncharacteristic note of flirtation in my voice. “Depends on how memorable you make this night.”

  He laughs out loud, a deep, booming laugh that startles me a bit, but at the same time he draws me close. I hardly have time to feel cold before I relax into his warmth. Be careful, a little voice in my head says. Then I remember Beatrice.

  “Before we go, I need to hit the ladies’ room, okay?”

  He nods. “Sure.” Leading me to the hallway where the doors to the restrooms are, he releases my hand and leans up against the wall. “I’ll wait.”

  I practically skip into the bathroom, slide into a stall, and quickly latch it. I can’t make yet another stupid, brash decision when under the influence. God, I can’t. Not again. I glance quickly at the phone.

  ZOE. YOU DO NOT LEAVE THIS PARTY WITH HIM. THAT’S BRAX.

  Wait. What?

  Frowning, I text back. Seriously? Why not? He seems really nice.

  He is nice! Came the immediate reply. He’s just into stuff you are not into!

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean? We aren’t buying a house together. I have honestly no idea what we we’re doing together, but it’s nothing serious.

  Don’t worry about it. Is he Zack’s friend?

  Beatrice’s husband is, hands down, the most responsible guy ever. He’s my friend, and as straight-laced as humanly possible. If Brax is Zack’s friend, I trust him.

  Well yes, but…

  I sigh impatiently. But what?

  But I’m not sure he’s your type.

  And that right there angers me. I am so sick of people telling me what to do. Beatrice just stood in front of a roomful of people with the man of her dreams on her arm, the real deal, the kinda guy that puts you on a pedestal and treats you like a princess. I don’t begrudge her in the least, but where does she get off trying to dissuade me from doing… whatever it is I’m doing. Sudden tears blur my vision.

  I’m not sure you know my type.

  Do I?

  And with that, I shut my phone off, shove it in my bag, and stalk over to the sink, wobbling a little. I wash my hands and tidy my hair, which looks oddly askew. The whole outfit does, weirdly. The mirror seems a little lopsided, the light at an odd angle, and I wonder what the hell they did to it, or if something is wrong with me.

  I’m on my way out to do… things I shouldn’t do… with a man I not only don’t know, but who Beatrice has just told me to run away from.

  Fuck that. I run a lip gloss brush over my lips, and a brush through my dark brown hair. My eyes are bright and excited, and there’s a pink flush to my cheeks that I rarely see.

  So Brax is into things I’m not into.

  I can deal.

  As I leave the bathroom, a weirdly irrational thought comes to mind: What if he left? What if he found another girl, a prettier girl?

  Why do I care?

  But when I push open the door to the restroom, he’s leaning up against the wall, one foot propped up, hi
s hands in his pockets. He’s sexy as sin and my heart goes thumping like mad. He’s there. He waited for me. And the night is young.

  He tosses me a lopsided grin, one corner of his lips quirking up. “Ready, babe?”

  I grin back in return.

  “I’m so ready.”

  I ignore the small buzz of foreboding in my stomach. Beatrice my instant-conscience chides me from my shoulder, but I tell her to shut up. Just for tonight. I love her but her voice in my head’s being a pain in the ass.

  “Want to get a drink somewhere?” I ask him.

  He pushes open the door and gestures for me to go through. Jesus, that’s nice. No one does that anymore. Maybe in some small town in the south or something but here, in NYC? No way.

  “Why thank you,” I say, walking through the door. He follows behind me, the brisk spring wind blowing my hair askew. I giggle as it sticks in my lip gloss and I whip my head around so my hair flows behind me.

  “Drink?” he says. “Yeah, maybe some coffee. Not sure you need any more alcohol.”

  God. Did I just end up with a prude or something? But no. Prudes don’t dance like he danced with me on that floor. Still, it sorta pisses me off that he thinks it’s cool to tell me I’ve had enough to drink.

  “You my keeper tonight?” I ask, an edge in my voice. I wrap my arms around myself, and it surprises me when he comes up next to me, tugs one arm free, and nabs my hand. As we walk, he pulls me close to him so that he’s between me and the street and I’m nearest the buildings.

  “Did you just walk out of a club with a guy you don’t know?” he asks.