About Samantha A. Cole
Ignoring the heavy din of slot machines, shouts from winners, groans from losers, and the general conversation that filled the air in the casino of Caesar’s Palace, Cordell Roberts limped at a moderate pace toward the Montecristo Cigar Bar. It was a few minutes before his scheduled 3:00 p.m. meeting, and he was still curious what it was for. All he knew was Mitch Sawyer and his fiancé, Tyler Ellis, wanted to talk with him about something. They were in Las Vegas for a long weekend with their fiancée, Tori Freyja. Yes, the three were in a ménage relationship, with Mitch being the Dom, Tori the submissive, and Ty half and half, which, in the BDSM lifestyle, was known as a switch. In other words, Ty bottomed for Mitch, while Tori bottomed for both men.
Cordell had no problem with the unconventional relationship. He’d been a Dom for the past fourteen years since discovering the lifestyle shortly after his twenty-third birthday. While he had no interest in men and preferred to have only one sub at a time, he knew quite a few threesomes who made it work without any jealousy or alienation among them. Currently, he was in a no-sex, D/s relationship—one that he wished didn’t have the “non” in it—with Tori’s cousin, Tiffany Armstrong. They’d been introduced to each other by Mitch seven months ago. The man had wanted the little submissive to have a Dom who would help deprogram her after she’d gotten out of a bad Master/slave relationship she never should’ve been in to begin with.
Sweet Tiffany was submissive by nature, and the asshole, so-called Dom had turned her into a slave whom he’d abused mentally, emotionally, and physically. Cordell had a reputation at Club Domain—a private lifestyle club in Vegas—as a Dom who’d helped several traumatized submissives recover over the years whenever he’d been in between his own contracted D/s relationships. He’d never had sex with any of the abused women he’d taken under his wing and had eventually found each of them their perfect Dom, who’d cherish them. However, Cordell’s restraint was being tested big time with Tiffany. He wanted her like he’d never wanted any other woman before, but she still wasn’t ready for him to announce that. Her ex had done a number on her, and Cordell would need to overcome a few more obstacles before even thinking about negotiating a new contract with her.
After Cordell had dropped Tiffany off in the lobby where they’d met Tori, the two cousins had left the hotel to go on a shopping spree, while he’d continued further inside the casino hotel to meet with the other men.
Entering the cigar bar, he inhaled deeply, savoring the rich aromas of wood, leather, musk, and spice, as the noise level dropped dramatically with the door shutting behind him. One of his vices in life was a good cigar. Another was a smooth glass of cognac. Since it was late afternoon, and they’d be meeting the ladies in about two hours for dinner, he was looking forward to indulging in both on Sawyer’s tab. After all, the man was the one who’d extended the invite to this little meeting, And, as one of the owners of the most elite BDSM club on the Florida Gulf Coast, Sawyer made a hell of a lot more in a year than Cordell did as a police lieutenant. Apparently, he’d also invested well between Ty’s expertise as a stockbroker and his uncle, a self-made billionaire in real estate who’d passed on business opportunities to his family members.
As it stood now, though, Cordell wasn’t going to be a cop much longer. He’d be retiring soon—a few years before he’d expected to. Almost five months ago, he’d taken a bullet to his right hip after responding to a bank robbery in progress. He’d only been two blocks away when the call had come in and had been one of the first responders on scene. A Las Vegas police officer had also been wounded, while the three perpetrators had been killed during an eight-minute shootout. Miraculously, there’d been no civilians injured or killed, thank God. That’d probably been a result of the bank’s location being on the outskirts of the city, far away from the main strip and all the tourists.
While the patrol officer had returned to duty three months ago—he’d been hit in the upper arm—Cordell hadn’t been as lucky. The bullet had shattered the femoral head of his hip, resulting in a partial hip replacement. However, during his rehab, they’d discovered he had permanent nerve damage, which often sent pain shooting down to his toes and up his back. It was something he was going to have to live with for the rest of his life. Medication to quiet the nerve helped a bit, but not enough for Cordell to return to work. Most days, he limped—today wasn’t as bad as it’d been yesterday—but he never knew when the pain would be so agonizing his leg would almost collapse underneath his weight.
Searching the richly decorated room, Cordell spotted Mitch and Ty sitting at a table with a curved, leather-covered bench and two matching wingback chairs. Mitch glanced up and waved him over. Both men stood as he approached, and Cordell held out his hand for them to shake. “Hey, Mitch. Ty. Good to see you again.”
This was only the second time he’d met the two in person. The first time Cordell had ever spoken to Sawyer was after the man had called in some favors to find a respectable Dom for Tiffany, after he’d escorted her to a family wedding at Tori’s request. That was before Sawyer had gotten together with Tori and Ty. Cordell had finally met them all a few weeks later, when he and Tiffany had taken a quick trip to Florida to witness the threesome’s collaring ceremony. He’d been extremely impressed with The Covenant, the club Mitch owned with his two cousins, Ian and Devon Sawyer—both retired Navy SEALs who also owned a private security business. The Covenant rivaled Club Domain in terms of décor, security, and membership. Cordell had been pleasantly surprised when he and Tiffany had been given play rights and free visitation anytime they found themselves in Tampa again. It’d been a gift from Mitch, who treated Tiffany as his future sister-in-law because she and Tori were so close. Since that weekend, Cordell had spoken to them occasionally over the phone.
After exchanging greetings, the three men sat, with Cordell easing himself onto one of the unoccupied leather chairs. A pretty, dark-haired waitress stopped at their table and set a cocktail napkin down in front of her most recent customer. “Good afternoon, sir. Can I get you anything from the bar or humidor?”
Cordell glanced at what the other men were drinking. Ty had a draft beer in front of him, while his fiancé picked up an elegant, Riedel crystal glass, partially filled with an amber liquid. Mitch blew out a puff of smoke from the fragrant cigar he held in his other hand and grinned. “If I’m correct, I think my friend will be joining me. Bring another glass of Louis, please, Margo, on my tab.”
The corners of Cordell’s mouth rose in delight. Mitch had ordered the best. Louis XIII Cognac by Remi Martin cost around $2500-3000 per bottle in bars and restaurants. A mere shot was probably $130 or more. There was no way Cordell would turn down a taste of what some called the best cognac in the world. If requested, a sommelier would perform a “perfect pour” table side, but that didn’t appear to be necessary this time.
“My pleasure, Mr. Sawyer. Would you also like a cigar, sir?” she asked Cordell.
Since Ty’s cigar was probably better suited to accompany his beer, Cordell gestured toward Mitch’s smoke. “I’ll have what he’s having, thanks.”