Lock and Load Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Lock and Load

  ISBN # 9781781848456

  ©Copyright Desiree Holt 2013

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2013

  Edited by Stacey Birkel

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 2.

  This story contains 81 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 11 pages.

  Attack Force

  LOCK AND LOAD

  Desiree Holt

  Book two in the Attack Force series

  Two people who want a relationship built on trust yet neither believe in it…until he shows her how to accept his domination and she learns the true meaning of submission.

  Beau Williams, the perfect sniper, has achieved success by closing himself down emotionally. He desperately wants to find a permanent sub who enjoys spanking and caning as much as he enjoys administering them, but he doesn’t know if he can open himself up to another person ever again.

  Megan Welles is still struggling with her need to be a submissive. She wants a man who will give her that without destroying the strength she needs for her job as a sports reporter. And she’s tired of hooking up in bondage clubs but never connecting emotionally with anyone.

  When she meets Beau and takes him home for the night, something clicks between them, but how will they deal with the struggle to open up their emotions to each other?

  Dedication

  To everyone who helped me with this and to the snipers who finish off our enemies with deadly accuracy. And most especially to the people at S.A. Crossing who have taken me in and educated me to the D/s life so I could write about it accurately.

  Author’s Note

  The author acknowledges that some of the information in this book is based on incidents as reported in Inside Delta Force by Eric L. Haney and Lone Survivor by Marcus Luttrell.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Walmart: Walmart Stores, Inc.

  AH-helicopter (Apache): Boeing Management Company Corporation

  iPad: Apple Inc. Corporation

  Keurig: Green Mountain Coffee Roasters

  Chapter One

  When Beau Williams became part of Delta Force Charlie, one of the first things his teammates told him was Afghanistan was no picnic. They’d warned him that it was considered one of the most forbidding battlegrounds in the history of war and it didn’t take him long to agree with that assessment. Fiercely cold in the winter, hot as an oven in the summer, there were few roads, water was scarce and only the hardiest of the hardy could survive the brutal environment.

  But the men of Delta Team Charlie, led by Slade Donovan, were just such men, trained in every skill imaginable to fight in the war on terror. They were part of a unit in the legendary Delta Force—or First Special Forces Operational Detachment—which operated as part of JSOC—Joint Special Operations Command—in the on-going conflict with radical extremists around the world. Slade and his men were currently in the middle of yet another hair-raising mission in the Hindu Kush mountain range that ran from Central Afghanistan to Pakistan.

  An unforgiving mountain system, the Hindu Kush was nearly a thousand miles long and two hundred miles wide, running northeast to southwest, mainly through Afghanistan, and dividing the Amu Darya River Valley and the Indus River Valley. It stretched from the Pamir Plateau, near Gilgit, to Iran and had over two dozen summits of more than twenty-three thousand feet in height. Below the snowy peaks, the mountains of Hindu Kush appeared bare, stony and poor in vegetation. For centuries it had been referred to as the graveyard of foreign armies.

  This wasn’t the first time Delta Team Charlie had been here in this soulless place on a mission and they were pretty damn sure it wouldn’t be their last. They’d plotted and planned as carefully as they could, absorbing all the intel they’d received, but as many times as they’d been here, they knew planning could only take them so far.

  Finding cover was difficult as always, but their recon man had found them a perfect place to sequester themselves. Good thing, since they’d been waiting two days and two nights. The only good thing about the endless wait, alternately roasting and freezing, was the wind that had plagued them constantly for most of that time had finally died down. Beau, the team’s sniper, hated the wind. An errant wind played hell with the accuracy of a sniper rifle, screwing with the trajectory. He’d been doing this, serving as a sniper, for ten years and had learned how to compensate for nature, how to correct for correct for almost anything up gale force winds. But he liked it better when the air was still and his spotter could give him exact trajectory and coordinates. He’d still rather not have to worry about it. And up here in the Hindu Kush, the winds were very unpredictable.

  Stretched out full length beside him was Trey McIntyre, the man who had been his spotter from the time he joined the team. By now the two of them were so much in sync, they could almost communicate telepathically. Trey was motionless, staring through his field glasses at the small settlement below. It was little more than a collection of tents, with camels and donkeys staked out under a canvas ceiling. Their target was a tribal leader who had proven connections with a radical Muslim group and who made money stealing guns from the American military and selling them to other tribes.

  The intel had reached them that the leader would be visiting this outpost and would be more exposed than at any other time. This would be the most optimum time to take him out before he could do any more damage. With their commander they’d plotted the mission very carefully, trying to cover every angle.

  They’d been here all this time waiting for their target to show himself. The intel had informed them they had a three-day window, but that time would run out pretty soon. The Apache gunship that had dropped them off wouldn’t hang around beyond the target date. Too dangerous. Even now they all hoped the pilot had managed to find a place out of sight, maybe in one of the many desolate canyons.

  Their four-man team had been dropped into place more than a mile away from where they now waited, the place where the helo would pic
k them up when their mission was completed. Getting more than one team in there—even a full team of their own—would be impractical. The more people you dropped into a hot spot, the greater the chance of discovery. Lean and mean, as Slade always said.

  Beau was happy they had found this little notch to conceal themselves. Slade and their recon expert, Marc Blanchard, were stationed behind them, scoping out the area. Covering their backs.

  Most people looking at Beau Williams when he was not in mission mode would have dismissed him as a ‘surfer dude,’ and often did. But he was one of the most highly trained snipers in Delta Force, totally focused on every mission and with a growing kill book. Now, lying on the rocky ground, his ears were tuned to every sound, his hands lovingly cradling his extremely effective .50 caliber Heckler & Koch SG1. The lightweight, highly efficient semi-automatic sniper rifle had deadly accuracy and a large magazine capacity. Its silent bolt-closing device made it ideal when absolute silence was required, as it was with nearly all of their missions.

  They had been in this spot for two days, subsisting on energy bars and bottled water and using those sparingly. It wasn’t as if they could run into the local Walmart to replenish their supplies. They had taken turns standing watch, napping lightly, something they’d been well trained to do, watching for signals of the arrival of their target. But the monotony of the activity below them hadn’t changed. The men in the camp rose early, gathered in the central area of the yard for prayers, prepared their breakfast over a central campfire and ate as if they had nothing else to do. Which, Beau thought, seemed to be pretty much what their activity was for the rest of the day. At sundown they prayed again, ate dinner and retired to their tents.

  As the hours crawled by, Beau felt his training automatically take over, keeping him alert and ready. Every two hours they changed watch shifts, although for Beau even Afghanistan and their mission couldn’t drive away thoughts of the leggy blonde he’d met in Texas who had pushed all his buttons. A few months ago the four team members had decided they wanted to take their down time together for a change. Slade had generously invited them all to the ranch he owned in Texas, a ranch run by a very capable foreman while Slade fought for his country.

  Hanging out on the ranch and drinking beer together hadn’t been the only thing on their to-do list, however. They had a specific bond, which made their friendship even tighter. All four men were avowed Doms and Slade had a membership at The Edge. He had been only too glad to bring the others on the team to the club as his guests while they were at the ranch. They’d all had another agenda, besides good, hot D/s sex. Each man was in his middle to late thirties, close to the end of the time where they’d be effective in the field. Whatever came next for them, they were all getting tired of casual relationships and hook-ups. But finding the right woman who wanted to be a sub, one who meshed with their hard-bitten personalities and could handle the time they would be apart, wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

  Even then, if they found someone in San Antonio, what did it mean for those on the team who lived elsewhere?

  “Don’t sweat until you have to,” Slade had told them when the subject came up. “Right now home base is in the Middle East. Who knows what y’all will decide to do after we get out. Maybe you ugly bastards will meet someone and decide to settle down close to me.” He’d chuckled. “I guess I could learn to tolerate it.”

  Easier said than done, Beau mused now. Slade, the lucky asshole, had hooked up with a woman he’d met five years earlier at a club in Chicago. By an accident of coincidence they’d both been visiting there at the time. They’d been shocked when they’d reconnected at The Edge and found they both lived in San Antonio. From the moment they’d reconnected, the heat coming from their bodies had practically been visible. On the last visit to San Antonio, Slade and Kari had gotten engaged and the ceremony was planned for their upcoming leave. Which, if things went well, would be after the successful completion of this mission.

  Then, quite unexpectedly, Beau had met the mouthwatering sub with the sun-streaked blonde hair. He’d just been looking for a night of exciting sex and been shocked at the instant connection he’d felt. The sizzle that sparked between them had nearly lit up the room. When they’d met in the lounge at The Edge, he’d immediately spotted the pink bracelet she wore, signaling she was a sub available for the night, and he’d taken full advantage of it. The first night with her had blown his mind, and the two that had followed had been even better. Since then he’d woken up more than once with his hand wrapped around his dick, sweating from dreams about the things they’d done in that private room.

  He’d quickly discovered she also had a strong side to her personality. He didn’t know what she did for a living. All she’d told him was her name—Megan. But just from the few things she’d let slip, he gathered that whatever she did, she needed to project confidence. It had been obvious from the moment they’d began their playtime that she grappled with the conflict between her public personality and her full submissive need. For Beau, the signs of Megan’s struggle to reconcile the two opposite sides of her nature were a big part of the turn-on for him. He loved her spirit, even as he’d had her on her knees, head tipped back, his cock in her mouth.

  Until recently, Beau hadn’t been one to get himself tangled up with a woman for more than a few nights. Neither his family experience nor his career as a sniper had made him open to people. The only people he connected with were the members of Team Charlie and that was the way he liked it. He did his best to ignore Slade’s remarks about all of them getting older and needing something solid in their lives. His something solid was his sniper rifle.

  Megan, Whateverhernamewas had given him a week to remember, one of the best in his life. She was not just an enthusiastic sub—she was into pain as much as he was. He’d taken it easy that night, unwilling to push hard until he knew her better, recognized her signals, her responses. But he wanted more. A lot more. In his mind there had been no mistaking the link between the two of them, one that was both emotional and physical. He wanted the chance to find out if that connection was real or imagined. If she felt it, too. If, unexpectedly, he’d found someone who he could think about for more than just the moment.

  And if he could trust the situation. His own family wasn’t exactly a poster display for warm and fuzzy. Not to mention the fact that he never knew when he’d be home or how long he’d deploy for. There was always the chance she’d meet someone else while he was off playing soldier. Maybe someone from work, or a Dom who pushed her buttons more than he did.

  Beau was a loner, socially. Things just worked out better that way for him. He didn’t trust the commitment level of women. That was just part of who he was. The Army had been his mistress, his lover, his commitment. But Megan…well, Megan was different. Wasn’t she? When his cock had been buried deep inside her, when she’d been bound hand and foot for his pleasure, he’d felt something he’d never felt with any other woman.

  He was acutely aware that a career like his didn’t exactly help the situation. He’d seen too many relationships fail due to the stress of constant separation and the inability to settle into a normal pattern during down time.

  But you’ve seen others succeed, too. And if Slade is willing to take a chance, maybe it can work.

  And maybe not. He’d be cautious, but he was definitely going to see this woman again. He damn sure planned to snag a guest pass to The Edge from Slade and hope she’d be there. Maybe if he found her again, she could be his plus one at the wedding. If Slade and Kari didn’t mind.

  Plus one? What’s that all about? Take a date?

  He shifted uncomfortably. This was no time or place to be thinking about down and dirty sex. He needed to use his big head not his little one. He had serious work to do here.

  “Bogeys at three o’clock.”

  Trey’s whisper was so soft that, if not for his acute sense of hearing, Beau might have missed it. It jarred him out of his thoughts. He blinked to clear his vision and sig
hted through the scope, a dual-illumination system that automatically adjusted aiming-point brightness to existing lighting conditions. Yup, there they were, sharp and clear—two Jeeps slowly lumbering across the rocky ground into the encampment. The guards stationed at either end of the camp went on full alert, rifles at the ready, scanning the surrounding area for any sign of movement as the Jeeps moved into the center of the encampment.

  But Delta Team Charlie was like a wraith, a phantom that faded into the background, so silent they could barely hear their own breathing. They all waited patiently, Beau more than any of them, for the men to exit from the vehicles. The target was easy to spot, the only one that every single man bowed to and who was distinguished by his colorful clothing. His chapan, a robe of purple and green vividly reflected by the moonlight, was worn over a peren, the typical baggy cotton trousers, and a tunbun, a cotton tunic. The headdress he wore designated him as a person of some note.

  The Taliban leader stood erect as he accepted each man’s homage and briefly allowed himself to be embraced by what appeared to be the two primary guards. The greetings out of the way, the group began to move slowly toward the largest tent set just to the side of the central yard. It was larger than any of the others and had flaps enclosing it all the way around. The men walked slowly, talking, gesticulating. Beau was sure none of them expected enemy invasion in the unforgiving landscape.

  In a moment they would separate, even infinitesimally, and he would have his shot.

  Wait for it. Wait for it.

  Next to him Trey began whispering the wind velocity, the range to target measured with his spotter’s scope, the angle of descent. A spotter was trained to memorize formulas for range, wind, elevation, temperature and target movement and be able to make calculations with or without a calculator. And Trey was one of the best. Beau trusted him implicitly.