Under his command decade.., p.1
Under His Command: Decadence LA, Book 2, page 1
Under His Command
Decadence LA Book 2
By
Maddie Taylor
Copyright © 2023 Maddie Taylor
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Master My Love, Decadence LA Book 1
Published by Maddie Taylor/Breathless Romance
www.RomanceByMaddieTaylor.com
Cover Design by Fantasia Frog Designs
Images by DepositPhotos.com
Editing by Decadent Publishing
This book is intended for entertainment purposes only.
Activities represented are based on fantasy only, not real people or events.
Recommended for adult audiences only.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Follow Maddie Online
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
More Spicy Romance by Maddie Taylor
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Under His Command
Decadence LA, Book 2
The only woman he wants is the one he knows he shouldn't have.
For over two decades, Commander Flynn Dalton has been relentlessly committed to his service as a Navy SEAL. But now that he's settled at Coronado Island, the demands of his career have changed. By day he's still giving his all as he trains new recruits, but his nights are devoted to finding the one thing he's been missing all these years–his perfect submissive. Although he can't stop thinking about a certain shy beauty, he knows she's far too young and innocent.
Computer analyst Cassie Hardwick has resigned herself to being permanently relegated to the friend zone by the man of her dreams. To take her mind off Flynn, she's ready to dive back into the lifestyle and unleash her wild side. Mingling anonymously at Decadence LA's masquerade mixer seems like the perfect opportunity. After flirting up a storm with an incognito charmer, both Cassie and her suitor are in for quite the surprise when the masks finally come off at midnight.
Publisher’s Note: Under His Command is a friends-to-lovers, age gap, slow burn romance. It is book 2 in the Decadence LA series, which is a spin-off to Maddie’s popular Club Decadence series. Like all the books in the series, it contains spicy, suspense-filled romance with power exchange and BDSM themes, which may be disturbing to some.
Chapter 1
She brushed the hair that had escaped from her ponytail, out of her eyes.
The breeze blowing in off the water contained more than a hint of coolness as night settled over the island. Cassie shivered, feeling goose bumps break out across her skin. Her short shorts and thin cotton camisole offered little protection. Born and raised in California, it should have come as no surprise. The chill of the Pacific with its northern current, even as far south as San Diego, was common knowledge. But when the sparkling blue water glistened in the warm sunshine, it made her forget.
She’d done so this evening when she walked down to the surf until the waves rolling in covered her bare feet and ankles. Although tempted to, she didn’t cut and run. Instead, she braved the cold for several minutes, getting used to it as she’d done as a kid. It was that or never get in the water, the latter an unacceptable option. Cassie would have been a professional beach bum if she could make a living at it.
As she stood, soaking it all in, enjoying everything from the salt-scented air to the sand between her toes, and the always soothing sound of the waves crashing into the shore. It muted the chatter and laughter from the party going on behind her, the one she’d just left.
She knew no one there and had only come out to Coronado Island to explore and get the lay of the land before her big day tomorrow. On her way home, she couldn’t resist stopping at North Beach to take a stroll along the sparkling golden-sand shoreline while watching the sunset over the water.
She hadn’t intended to stay long, but when she passed a group of twenty-somethings playing volleyball, she’d gotten caught up watching the game. Not only because the guys, who were lean, tan, and fit, had stripped off their shirts, but also because they were having a blast. Their peals of laughter rang across the sand as the girls on the other side of the net provided plenty of entertainment. Whenever they bumped into each other or tripped and fell in the sand, they erupted into fits of uncontrollable giggles. The coolers in the background, which undoubtedly stored beer rather than soda, were partly to blame, no doubt.
Cassie stood by grinning as they ran after stray balls, often going down in a tangle of arms and legs as they lunged to keep another shot from hitting the sand. Not once in the entire time she watched did they manage over a two- or three-hit volley. The guys, who were more coordinated—or less inebriated—didn’t seem to mind that the girls couldn’t get it together. She imagined they indulged their lack of skill because the young women were tan, fit, and beautiful, and wearing minuscule bikinis.
When they noticed her watching from the sidelines, and laughing along with them, they invited her to join in. She didn’t hesitate—something not like her at all—but after being alone in a new city for two long, lonely weeks, she was bored and in need of some fun.
One game turned into several, and before she knew it, the sun had set. They had to stop playing when they couldn’t see anymore but wouldn’t hear of her saying goodbye, and convinced her to stay for a bonfire.
By the time the fire was blazing, the coolers were empty, except for a few beer bottles bobbing in melted ice. One guy got out a guitar, and while he tuned up, a joint made its way around the circle. Cassie passed it to the person next to her without taking a hit, thinking it wise to abstain since she was starting a new job for the government the next day. She didn’t care in the least if the others indulged, however.
She didn’t need to get high. It was enough to sit cross-legged in the sand as she enjoyed the warm, crackling fire, the moonlit night, the sound of the ocean in the background, and good company. Not to mention the free entertainment because the guitar player could sing. A few others with talent joined in, harmonizing in perfect counterpoint to his melody.
It was a great way to relax at the end of two hectic weeks. Unfortunately, with her first day at work looming in the morning, she had to drag herself away much sooner than she wanted to. But before she left, she got a few names and numbers. She needed new friends, and this group knew how to unwind, something she’d be looking for in the stress-filled coming months.
As she walked down the beach toward the public lot where she’d parked, she felt the buzz from the beer and had to pause to get her bearings. This brought her to where she was now, her face in the breeze, eyes closed, breathing deep while trying to clear her head.
When it came to alcohol, she’d always been a lightweight; two light beers her long-standing limit. She’d foolishly had three. Driving home would be stupid in her condition, so a cab ride was in her future. She wrinkled her nose thinking of the stale air in just about every taxi she’d ever been in, the tattered upholstery that had seen countless strangers’ asses, and the sticky floors—the cause of which she didn’t want to imagine—and didn’t relish the experience.
Sighing, she opened her eyes and took one last look at the ocean.
There was nothing quite like the Pacific. She’d grown up farther north in the Bay Area, but wherever she went up or down the coast, if she could see the water, she felt like she was home. She’d missed it while living back east. Boston was a great city. The people were friendly, the history abundant, and she had plenty to do, but the weather was horrendous. In the summer, she sweltered, but far worse than the heat and humidity was the bitterly cold winter with snow measured in feet, not inches.
She’d been excited the first time she’d seen the ground covered in white. Except what started as fluffy and beautiful turned treacherous if you got caught driving in it. When it hung around for days on end, she tired of it fast, especially when it turned into ugly, black piles on every street corner. And she couldn’t walk on the beach whenever she wanted, not from October until at least May without freezing her butt off. Enduring half the year without feeling sand between her toes was just plain wrong.
She was back on the West Coast now, hopefully for good, and in the morning, she started a new chapte
Cassie turned, scanning the wide expanse of beach for her landmark—a lifeguard tower just past the dunes—when a giant wave rolled in. It came up to mid-thigh, soaking the cuffs of her white denim shorts and staggering her a bit. She made a run for dry land before the next wave surged but didn’t make it. Another crashed into her and took her to her knees.
“Crap on a cracker,” she muttered while shivering.
The shifting sand didn’t make slogging through the waves any easier. Nor did the sharp rock or shell digging into the tender arch of her foot. Thrown off-balance, she fell to her knees again with a splash. To keep from face-planting in the surf, she put her hands out and went down on all fours, which allowed the next wave to soak the rest of her. They seemed to come in faster and more powerful, knocking her onto her back and dragging her out with them.
Never intending to go for a swim, Cassie shrieked in frustration. It turned into a startled yelp when strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm.
“I’ve got you,” a deep, masculine voice said from well above her head. He began hauling her out just as another wave hit. This time, she stayed on her feet but only because of his firm hold.
Once on dry sand beyond the reach of the rising surf, he stopped, steadying her with both hands as he turned her to face him.
“Thank you,” she told her rescuer, while gasping for breath.
A dog barking beside her made Cassie jump.
“Quiet, boy,” the man ordered the animal bounding excitedly around their feet.
With clouds rolling in and filtering the moon, the best she could make out was his dark shape and the whites of his eyes as he looked up at her. The next moment, he nudged her hard, his cold nose working its way under her hand, demanding attention. He was a big boy, his head coming up to her waist, and his body weight combined with the sudden movement knocked her into the man beside her.
As her wet body collided with him, his fingers clamped around her arms again, tight but not uncomfortably so.
“Manners, Roscoe. Sit.” Though pitched low in a smooth baritone, his order held an edge of steel.
This time, the dog dutifully sat at attention, his hot breath panting against her thigh. Cassie felt compelled to fall in along with him, considering the command held an unmistakable air of authority.
“I’m sorry. He’s never met a stranger. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she replied, patting the dog’s head and giving him a scratch behind the ear before glancing up at his owner. “I hadn’t realized the tide was coming in, and so fast.”
Cassie saw him stiffen. “You’ve been drinking,” he stated. Next, he leaned in and sniffed. “And smoking.” She couldn’t see his expression clearly but could feel the intensity of his disapproval. “What were you thinking going into the water while under the influence? Were you trying to drown yourself?”
“No, I—”
“Are you here alone?” he interrupted. A burst of laughter from behind her drew his gaze to the group of partiers down the beach. “You should get back to your friends and don’t wander away again until you’re sober.” He paused a moment. “Are any of them fit to drive?”
“I’m not with them, not really. I was heading back to my car—”
“You’re not getting behind the wheel as you are; you can barely stand up.”
That wasn’t true. Without the onslaught of the incoming waves and free of the shifting sand, Cassie was quite steady. Irritated by his bossy, pejorative manner, she pulled away. “I hadn’t planned to drive. I was going to call a cab.”
“Good. I’ll walk you back and wait while you do.” Without getting her agreement for this plan, he turned, and with her wrist in his inflexible hold, began walking. A shrill whistle pierced the air suddenly, making her jump yet again. “Roscoe!”
The dog obediently fell in line beside her. Who wouldn’t?
“This is unnecessary. I’m fully capable of returning to my car on my own.”
“It didn’t look that way to me a moment ago,” he muttered. “How much did you drink and smoke?”
“A few beers, and if it’s any of your business,” she snapped, letting her annoyance show, “I wasn’t smoking. As for the mishap in the water, the force of the waves startled me. And I intended to call a cab. I’m not an idiot, no matter what you may think.”
He pulled her to a stop, standing close enough for her to see his features if it wasn’t so dark. She suspected he was frowning when he said brusquely, “Forgive me, but you kids can’t always be trusted to do what is best, or smart. Case in point, wading with the tide coming in.”
“I didn’t know it was coming in,” she protested.
“It’s something you should know before coming to the beach, especially if you plan to stay after dark or get into the water.”
“That was an accident,” she repeated, her voice rising.
“I suppose the beer and pot were an accident, too,” he countered. “Both are prohibited. They patrol this beach often at night; you could have been arrested.”
“What are you, a cop?” A public drunkenness arrest on the eve of starting her new job wouldn’t thrill her employer.
“I’m not a police officer. But this is a resort island and we’re used to drunk and disorderly tourists on the beach. As well as underage consumption. If you were my daughter, you’d be grounded for a month after a trip over my knee for a good old-fashioned spanking for pulling this stunt.”
She gasped for two reasons. First, because he thought she was young enough to be his daughter. Cassie often found herself mistaken for a teenager, which had caused endless irritation over the years. Being five foot three and one hundred ten pounds soaking wet added to the misperception. She needed to stop wearing her hair in a ponytail, which would help. Second, his suggesting she needed to be punished, like a child.
Although he clearly wanted to provoke a reaction with his threat, she didn’t think her response would be the one he expected. She’d been over a man’s lap for discipline before and liked it. It had been a while—five, perhaps six years—and she missed it. The mere mention of it after such a long dry spell sent a delicious tremor coursing through her.
But he couldn’t know her shiver wasn’t from fear or outrage. Wouldn’t he be shocked to learn she got off on a good paddling? Though tempted to throw it in his face, she wasn’t so reckless.
Still, who did this guy think he was? They were complete strangers. What right did he have to imply she needed punishment? Outside of a relationship, or a club scene she negotiated with a dominant of her choosing, no way.
“You know,” she said curtly, “I appreciate your help back there, but I’m not drunk. Furthermore, I’m not a kid, but an adult who doesn’t need a lesson from a stranger who, for all I know, is a serial killer.” She jerked on her arm. “Let me go.”
He released her immediately and took a half step back. When he did, Roscoe surprised her by sitting on her feet and leaning against her legs, his tail thumping on the wet, compacted sand.
The moon made an appearance just then, and she saw him for the first time. Not clearly, but she could make out a firm, clean-shaven jaw, a mouth turned down in a frown—like she’d guessed—and eyes framed by a thick fan of long, dark lashes, though she couldn’t make out their color. His hair, slightly long on top but cropped close on the sides, was a light shade, either a dark blond or sandy brown. He wore an Under Armour shirt which fit him like a second skin, accentuating a muscular upper body and incredibly broad shoulders. Even in the dark, she could tell he was handsome, and not that much older than she was, mid-thirties, at most.
He sighed suddenly and dragged a hand across his jaw. Cassie heard the rasp of a beard and imagined he sported a five-o’clock scruff, something she always found sexy.
“You’re right,” he admitted, surprising her. “I jumped to the conclusion you were a college kid who had too much of a good thing and ended up floundering around in the waves.” He gestured behind him to where the public beach ended and the long row of private properties stretching down the coast. “I live on the island, and we get a lot of that. Especially in late August, as a last hurrah as summer ends and before classes start up again.” He paused a moment, looking out over the water. “Just last month we had a girl go missing while out for a swim past sunset. There was a rip current. A SEAL team from the naval base had to be called in to help recover the body.”
