Working Out the Kinks (Chain)

  Cover Copy

  Love comes in many forms, even in submission to a Master.

  When her childhood friend shows up in her history class completely changed, Alexandra “Lexi” Hayes knows something is wrong. She thinks it might have to do with the mysterious Dr. Eric Pierce she keeps seeing with Whitney. Seeking to help her friend and understand the change, Lexi finds herself drawn to the man. Before she knows it, she’s fallen into his world, and under his control.

  Eric Pierce is used to breaking in new subs for other Dominants, but when Lexi shows up in his office, he wants her for himself.

  Can Lexi learn to let go and submit to her new Master? Or will she run from this chance at love?

  CONTENT WARNING: BDSM, punishment, m/f/f sex

  A Lyrical Press Erotic Romance

  Highlight

  “So you know Whitney,” he mused casually, keeping his back to me. In shock, I watched him remove the latex gloves on his hands with a loud, snapping noise and toss them into the trash bin in the corner. I felt like a deer in the headlights, caught, and knowing I needed to run or risk my life standing there. And with most of my clothes still discarded on the chair beside me, there wasn’t a good chance I could get out quick enough with my decency still intact.

  I mentally told myself to remain calm. To keep relaxed, just as he had told me to do moments ago.

  “Yes, she’s my friend,” I said after regaining some composure.

  Dr. Pierce spun around on his heel, wearing a new pair of gloves, and returned back to stand between my outstretched legs.

  “Why are you here?” he asked me as I felt him touch my thigh. My mouth parted, my breath coming in quick gasps of air. He squeezed my sensitive skin, causing me to suck in my bottom lip between my teeth.

  “I want…”

  Getting words out was proving to be more than a challenge.

  “What do you want, Alexandra?”

  His eyes challenged me to speak.

  “I want what she has. I want a collar.”

  The Chain Series, Book 1

  Kara Winters

  Thank you for purchasing this Lyrical Press book

  Sign up for our newsletter to receive new release announcements, special offers, sneak peeks at future Lyrical books, and bonus content.

  http://www.formstack.com/forms/?1384942-G2JN7K986b

  Dedication

  For Crystal, for everything.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, to everyone in the Community.

  I hadn’t realized one of my oldest friends had been sitting in my history class for half of the school semester until our professor had us all up to grab our graded papers. When I reached to scoop up my report on the front desk, our hands briefly touched.

  “Oh, sorr–” I stopped myself when I recognized her eyes. “Whitney?”

  Her silky, chestnut-colored hair was cut shorter than I remembered, but her eyes gave her away. Whitney’s head remained down the entire time she collected her paper.

  She had always been a vibrant person. At barely over five feet in height, her personality was her best trait, next to her beauty. In high school, she was always one of the better friends to have around, as someone who knew all of the gossip and all of the parties. Now, this person who I was staring at in shock had little emotion. She stretched out her hand and took her paper from off the desk with a timid grasp and rushed back to her seat in the back of the classroom.

  After more observation, I noticed her eyes had black circles under them and she looked as if she hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks. She looked frail, but what caught my attention when the sunlight streaming in hit her was the strange necklace she had on. It was a simple, choker-like band made of black leather that was tight on her pale skin. In the middle of it, at her neck, hung a plain O-ring that dangled and reflected off the sunlight. It wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before and almost looked like…

  “Alexandra Hayes.” The sound of my name brought me out of my daze. Whitney looked over, but when she caught me staring at her, her gaze went straight back to her paper. I turned back to my professor and grabbed my paper from his hand. As I walked back to my seat, I stole another glance at Whitney. She looked like a marble statue instead of a human being.

  Through the rest of class, she remained completely still, never opening up her notebook to take notes or even picking up her pencil. I was distracted for the majority of the time, watching her out of the corner of my eye. We had been as close as sisters all throughout grade school. I even remembered her standing up for me when a bully tried attacking me on the playground. We practically lived at each others’ houses each weekend of our last summer together before her parents decided to move out of California, halfway through high school. Like most long-distance friendships, we lost contact with one another. That had been almost six years ago. This was our junior year of college, and I should have been happy to see her in my class after all that time. But there was something unsettling about how she reacted.

  Perhaps she didn’t have many friends here. Coming to college had been a bit overwhelming, even for me, and I had stayed in Los Angeles my entire life. Most of my friends had felt it was time to leave LA. But I didn’t want to go far. There was so much here, what would be the point in leaving such a cosmopolitan place?

  Class was dismissed, and the other students began packing up while I waited and watched Whitney from afar. She scooped up her belongings and was one of the first to leave the room. Weaving my way around the other students, I stepped outside and she was practically rushing to the parking lot, her head still down, and never looking up.

  “Whitney,” I called out to her. She flinched and stopped in her tracks. Hesitantly, she turned her head and looked over at me. Her fearful glance made me halt, and I almost felt that she was giving me a silent warning I shouldn’t have tried getting her attention. Whitney continued walking away, and I picked up my pace.

  A slick black Mercedes suddenly appeared at the curb in front of her. The engine purred beautifully when it came to a sharp stop, causing a few passersby to stare in awe. The glass was almost completely tinted, and the only thing I could see inside was a large, shadowy figure in the driver’s seat. The car’s door lifted up, instead of out like most car doors did. A man emerged, wearing a dark suit that hugged his sculpted body. He was dressed impeccably, a perfect match for a car like the one he was driving. His blond hair was parted to one side and stood perfectly still on the top of his head. Not one part of him was out of place. The man’s face was angelic, yet with a hint of something sinister. His jawline trailed down the side of his cheek, and his eyes, a deep blue, were latched onto my every move.

  He casually watched Whitney rushing in a quick walk toward him. When I took a few steps closer it caught the man’s attention. His gaze turned to me, and his brows narrowed. My legs froze in place, I was captured in his gaze. The air around me began to feel tighter, closing in from all around.

  I suddenly felt as if he was challenging me in a way, controlling me with his gaze and pressuring me to back down. But I didn’t. I just kept staring at him the entire time it took for Whitney rush to the passenger side and slide into the car with ease. The driver finally broke his stare and looked down toward Whitney. With one last glance at me, he sunk back into the car and closed the door behind him.

  In the shadow of the darkened window, he finally turned back toward the road and shifted the car into gear to speed off. Whatever had happened to Whitney, I started to feel the man driving was to blame. In the few fleeting seconds I had seen him, I felt I was being held captive by something dark. It was like a lure, the way he had looked at me. As if he knew I wouldn’t resist.

  On W
ednesday, Whitney didn’t show up to class. A lot of students skipped random class days, but after seeing that man waiting for her in the car, the feeling in my stomach her absence created was unsettling. Was she all right? Would seeing me get her into trouble? I’d only called out for her attention, but was there something else I was missing?

  It shouldn’t have been any of my business what Whitney did in her personal life, but concern was running rampant in my brain. There was definitely something wrong with my old friend. After class let out, I headed off campus to walk home. Westwood was a perfect little nook in Los Angeles, filled with housing for students and easy access to local restaurants and bars. The walk to my apartment was several blocks away, and it was the best time for me to exercise my brain outside of school. While taking my time getting home, I began thinking back to everything I knew about Whitney.

  Good family. Good grades. Always kind to others. Where did that man come into play? He looked older, but quite attractive. I could definitely see his appeal. A thought suddenly brought me to a halt.

  There had been a parking tag hanging off the rearview mirror inside the man’s car.

  It was the same one I’d seen in some of the other faculty and staff cars on campus. So whoever this man was, he either worked for the school or the hospital. And UCLA had many professors who also were doctors on campus. Teaching was more of a side job for them, but a necessary one. He had to be a doctor or a professor.

  I got back to my apartment and threw my belongings on the ground, then walked into my bathroom. The much-needed shower calmed my nerves, allowing me a few quiet minutes to myself while the hot water cascaded over my body. While I stood there, all I could think of was the parking tag and Whitney’s face. I began to form a plan. After drying off, I twisted my hair up into a towel and turned on my laptop to set to work. I started with the main UCLA hospital website and checked out the hospital inside the school. Most of the students used it as their main source of medical attention, but I had never gone inside the building. I clicked on the directory and cringed at all of the options I was given. There were departments for everything. Geriatrics, urology, pediatrics…I took a breath and began going down the list of options alphabetically, hoping that my efforts would at least produce something good.

  After the department of neurology, I started to give up hope. The doctors’ photos were starting to blur together as I scrolled faster down the list. There were long paragraphs of education and affiliation listing every piece of information I could ever need on each physician, except for a photo I could link to the man in the Mercedes. When I got to the department of Obstetrics and Gynecology I chuckled softly to myself, and clicked the link that sent me to the page for the doctors’ information.

  I scrolled past the entire list of doctors, luckily all had had their photo taken and placed on the website. I was about to decide that my research was going to go nowhere when the last doctor’s photo stopped my finger from closing the web page.

  It was the same man that had been in the Mercedes.

  He was staring back at me with a calm and collected grin on his face. It was hard for me to look away from him, because he was once again challenging me in some manner, even though it was just a photo and not the man himself.

  His name was Eric Pierce, and he had been a resident doctor at UCLA for five years. Dr. Pierce, the website read, specialized in Prolapse, Vaginal and Pelvic Support and Vaginal Reconstruction. I felt a deep blush come to my already heated face. Seeing the word vaginal next to his photo was making me more than embarrassed. I quickly slammed my laptop closed and bit at my thumbnail. Unfortunately, I had automatically memorized the number for the gynecology department, and my mind was doing everything it could to make me realize I was indeed due for a checkup.

  I shook my head and got up from my seat. I needed to find out more about Whitney first and not contemplate going in for an exam by some mysterious doctor. I walked over to the couch and flipped on the news, doing my best to keep myself occupied by anything besides my school and personal concerns.

  On Thursday, I decided I wouldn’t let Whitney get away this time. I didn’t want to give up on her. Class was dismissed, and I was ready with my things, knowing already that Whitney was quick in leaving the room. Once outside, she was nowhere to be found. I scanned the area surrounding me, but too many students were bustling through and I couldn’t find her in the crowd. Going with my gut instinct, I started to walk toward the parking where I had encountered Dr. Pierce. There was no sign of her or him and his Mercedes. I drew in a breath and sighed. The air was perfect–crisp but comfortably warm. I instantly regretted taking my car that day, but I only did so because I assumed I would be seeing Whitney. My walk to the car would at least give me time to think things through once more. I needed to figure out another plan of action. Lost in my thoughts, I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings until I heard a screech of tires. My head shot up and a car came to an abrupt halt inches in front of me.

  With a gasp, I jumped back a few steps before the grill of the car could clip my knees. It took me a moment to register that this car was familiar.

  Dr. Pierce opened the driver’s side door and placed one foot on the ground. He leaned his arm against the raised side of the car door and narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You should be more careful next time,” he warned me with a smirk.

  My lips parted, and I knew I looked like I was a deer caught in headlights. “Uh, sorry,” I apologized.

  I saw Whitney in the passenger’s seat, and her eyes widened in shock.

  “Lexi!” she yelled and then covered her mouth in what looked like fear.

  I didn’t reply, since all words escaped me as Dr. Pierce and I stared each other down. I saw his jaw tick, frustration building in his features. He turned toward Whitney and then his attention came back to me.

  “Are you going to continue walking? Or just stand there?” I heard him ask.

  Mentally I shook myself out of my trance and straightened up before getting out of the road. From behind I listened to the sounds of the car pulling away smoothly.

  My curiosity had hit its peak, and I found myself fascinated by Dr. Pierce.

  The next week, I knew I would barely concentrate on the lecture in history class. I got there earlier than most, and I watched and waited as my fellow students started to file in, letting my thoughts drift. From the way Dr. Pierce looked at Whitney in the car, I assumed I had gotten her into trouble, even though I hadn’t said a word to her.

  Several more ideas flashed through my head before the classroom door opened and Whitney walked in, again with her head down the entire time. Her choker made a gentle clinking noise as she rushed to her seat in the back of the class. I followed her with my gaze to the back of the classroom where I watched her slowly take her seat. Pain washed over her features when she touched down on the chair. After a few adjustments, Whitney turned to her side, picked up her notebook and pen and continued on with the rest of the class.

  She kept her gaze on her paper but was furiously scribbling down everything our professor was lecturing on. I finally turned back to my desk and began devising up a plan on how to approach her. Minutes ticked by, and before I knew it, class was being dismissed. To my advantage, Whitney was still finishing up a sentence in her notes when I approached her. She was so preoccupied with writing down the last of what had been on the blackboard that she didn’t see me.

  “Hey, Whitney,” I said in my most polite and cheerful tone. Whitney winced, like she had done the week before when I called her name, and slowly looked up at me.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice was dull and flat. I stood there in awkward silence, waiting for something to pop into my head or just for something in general to happen to one of us. But nothing came out of my mouth, and Whitney stared at me like I had just miraculously grown three heads.

  “Is there something you need?” she asked me matter-of-factly. I was at a loss for words.

  “I…” I stamme
red out while I toyed with a few loose strings on my book bag. “Well, I saw you last week and tried saying ‘hello’ but you didn’t recognize me outside, I guess. So I just wanted to see how you’re doing now.”

  Whitney’s gaze held something I couldn’t figure out. She looked frightened and excited, but there was another force holding her back.

  “No, I recognized you,” she curtly replied.

  Sensing our conversation wouldn’t get much further, I took the hint.

  “Well, okay then. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  I turned on my heel and began heading out the door. Behind me, I heard her mutter an obscenity and then, “Wait, Lexi. Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

  The plea, I felt, was sincere, and I turned back around to her, finding her features had softened.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve just been…” She looked down at her feet, a trait I was now associating with her standoffish ways. “Well, it’s just been a little difficult for me to…speak to anyone lately.”

  I felt her pain vibrating off me. She was just being another college student, like I was. Making friends again after having such tight-knit groups was hard enough. But perhaps with another turn of events, we could reconnect as strongly as we once did.

  Whitney glanced at her watch and bit her lower lip.

  “I have about an hour before I’m supposed to meet someone,” she explained. “Want to grab something to eat in the food court near the hospital?”

  I knew whom she was going to meet up with, and why she would want to be so close to the medical part of campus.

  “Sure, that’s fine,” I agreed. We left class and walked through campus, chatting happily about the odds and ends of our lives. She explained that she only returned to L.A. because her parents practically kicked her out of the house after high school, wanting Whitney, as she mimicked their voices, to “spread her wings.” Luckily, Whitney hadn’t felt bad about the situation, since coming back to Los Angeles was something she wanted. She was majoring in history, with a minor in psychology.