Copyright © L.M. Somerton, 2011
All Rights Reserved, Total-E-Ntwined Limited, T/A Total-E-Bound.

Excerpt From: Reaching the Edge

"Alyson, I realise that I’m a clinical psychologist, but my specialism, as you well know, is criminal psychology. What on earth makes you think I can help this boy?"

"He’s not a boy, Joe, he’s a young man. He’s been through the kind of trauma that would turn most of us into gibbering wrecks, and survived, against all the odds. But I can’t get him to trust anyone enough that they can help him. He’s so closed down that he’s barely functioning."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"He looks after himself on a basic level. He eats. He keeps clean. He does housework. But he hasn’t been able to return to work and he has horrific nightmares. I don’t think he’s slept properly in months."

"What aren’t you telling me? There has to be something…"

"Just read his file. I’ll buy you dinner." The slightly wheedling tone grated on Joe’s nerves and he found himself agreeing just to get the annoying woman off the phone.

"Fine. Send it over and I’ll take a look, but that’s it, Alyson. I’m not promising anything."

He could feel her triumph reverberating through the handset as he replaced the phone in its cradle. He’d known Alyson Bell for several years. She was well respected and, despite the fact that he didn’t like her all that much, he knew she was good at her job. She had referred patients to him in the past when the skills of her colleagues at the private clinic where she worked had been exhausted. He had no illusions about being the call of last resort. It was that very thing that intrigued him—the challenge of trying to help people whom everyone else had given up on.

It was Friday evening and he was looking forward to the first free weekend he’d had in nearly two months. He picked up the phone again and dialled his business partner and best friend.

"Heath. How’s it going?"

He smiled as he listened to Heath relay information about the week’s courses at The Edge, the corporate training company they ran together. He divided his time between his growing private practice and what was turning into a very successful business venture.

"I’ll be up next week as planned. Enjoy the weekend off." Joe tried not to sound too jealous.

Heath chuckled knowingly. "You don’t sound very sincere, my friend. What will you be getting up to?"

Joe was still trying to decide what to do with his own free time. "Not sure. Think I might put in an appearance at The Underground tonight."

He fiddled with a pen on the desk, then dropped it as Heath made a couple of very detailed suggestions as to what a night at The Underground might offer.

"It’s been so long since I played, I think I may have forgotten how to use one of those!"

A snort of disbelief sounded down the line, followed by a few caustic comments.

"I’m just going for a quiet drink and maybe a little innocent voyeurism. It won’t do the business any harm if I put in an appearance, anyway."

He held the phone away from his ear slightly and waited for the laughter to subside.

"Fine. Have your fun. I know that 'just watching' has never been my thing, but I’m fed up of all those doe-eyed submissives who just want to play for a night, then go back to their safe little worlds. I’m pushing thirty, Heath. I want something more and he has to be out there somewhere."

He tilted his chair back and smiled at the kinder words that followed.

"All right, all right! Twenty-eight isn’t thirty! Yes, I will have a good time. Yes, I will be careful and no, I will not be fucking telling you about it in the morning. Goodnight, Heath."

He began to tidy his office and prepare to leave, letting his mind wander back to the first time he and Heath had met. The Underground was an exclusive—and expensive—private club catering to London’s gay BDSM scene. Joe had been lounging against the main bar, craving a nice, soft nursing a glass of something involving mango and apple that the barman had convinced him to try. He entirely understood the club’s ‘no alcohol’ policy but sometimes it was a pain in the taste buds.

Heath had drawn every eye in the place as he had strolled across the room, black leather clinging to long legs and a gorgeous arse, his shirt. There’d been a few disappointed sighs as it had become obvious that this was not a new, tender submissive but a confident, young Dominant who would provide dangerous competition for all of them.

He’d ordered water with a twist of lime, glanced at Joe’s fruity concoction with a smirk and introduced himself. "Heath Anders. I need someone to teach me and I’m told you’re the best."

It had gone from there, and Joe had enjoyed every moment of showing his willing student what it meant to be submissive, and how to be the best possible Dominant. Friendship had led to partnership and the development of The Edge into something more than just a corporate training company. The Underground had provided them with a number of excellent clients and he was proud of the fact that they were making an active contribution to making their world safer and more respectful of others’ needs.
 

Excerpt From: Living on the Edge

The car sped along the motorway, its interior lit by flashes of neon orange and red from signs warning drivers to take a break, not to drink and drive and to slow down in the rain. Esther looked at her husband, Adam, who was driving. His forehead was creased into a frown, his eyes narrowed in concentration. It was dark, the rain was kicking up more spray than Niagara Falls and every truck they passed seemed to be generating a tidal wave of watered-down mud. In the passenger seat, Esther rearranged the rolled-up pullover she was leaning against, but it was impossible to get comfortable and she couldn’t relax anyway. She glanced into the rear-view mirror and pursed her lips. The cause of her anxiety was slumped in the back seat, the side of his face pressed against the cool window glass. His unusually pale eyes were open but unfocused, as though he were deep in thought. In the dim light it was impossible to see true colours, but his hair was dark and somewhat unruly, falling across his face in tousled waves.

"How long are you going to keep up the silent treatment, Aiden?" Esther spoke sharply and her husband cast a resigned glance in her direction.

"Leave him be, Esther. He doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to."

"He brought this on himself, Adam. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be rotting in jail right now."

"I know. And he’s going to have a whole year to regret his actions."

"He’s twenty years old. He should know better."

"Yes, dear."

A pained sigh came from the back of the car.

"For fuck’s sake, Sis. Lay off. You’ve committed me to a year of purgatory. Stop trying to justify your own actions."

"Even you must accept that this is a better option than prison."

"I’d have been out in six months. This is double the sentence. Thanks a lot."

"You ungrateful brat. The things I do for you…"

Aiden rolled his eyes. "I didn’t ask you to help, Essie. Stop acting the martyr."

"We’re here."

That stopped the bickering as they pulled off the motorway into a gloomy, unwelcoming service station.

"Esther, relax. Aiden, think about it. What do you think would happen to someone who looks like you do in prison?"

Aiden scowled but then muttered an apology under his breath. Esther shook her head and looked at her little brother. Adam was right, but it wasn’t Aiden’s fault that he looked the way he did. He was prettier than she was with his beautiful, unusual eyes, fine bone structure and soft, dark hair. Sometimes it was hard to believe that they were related. Aiden was the only member of the family who wasn’t stocky, sandy-haired and freckled. He was slim, pale-skinned and, at five foot eleven, relatively tall. She loved him deeply, but the last year had challenged even her tolerance for his behaviour.

It had all started three years ago, on Aiden’s seventeenth birthday. He had decided, against her better judgement, to come out to their somewhat old-fashioned parents. There had been no histrionics, no judgement, just a quiet disappointment that had gradually eaten into Aiden’s soul.

He’d been a brilliant student, a year ahead of his peers, and as soon as he could arrange it he’d left home for university. To start with he had emailed his sister regularly, choosing to keep in touch with her rather than face awkward phone calls with his technologically challenged mother and father. He’d seemed to thrive in the rarefied academic atmosphere, embracing the demands of studying maths and IT at the same time.

Then, in his third year, the emails had started to tail off. They’d become shorter and less informative. Esther had gone to visit and had found Aiden holed up in a darkened room with a computer and an intimidating man whose name she had never learnt. Though clearly shocked to see her, Aiden had taken her out to dinner, made all the right noises about studying and enjoying himself, then had sent her on her way. It was only when she’d got back home that she’d realised he had actually told her little of substance, and that she still had no clue as to what he was up to.

The first she’d learnt of exactly how much trouble he was in was when their mother had called her, mildly hysterical, to tell her that that Aiden had been arrested for hacking. Six months of hell had followed. Aiden had refused to talk about what he had done or why. He’d been released into Esther’s care on bail, pending trial, and was banned from being anywhere near a computer. The university had allowed him to finish his degree remotely and that was what he had spent six months doing—painstakingly writing his dissertation by hand and avoiding all mention of the impending trial.

Esther had attended court in the expectation that the trial would take weeks, but to her shock Aiden’s lawyer had entered a guilty plea on his behalf. Aiden hadn’t met her eyes once as the lawyer had made a statement pleading for leniency. Then the judge had asked for both the defending and prosecuting councils to meet in his chamber. What had emerged was a choice—six months in prison, or twelve months’ attachment to an organisation of the judge’s choosing for community service. The latter depended on payment of a bond and that was where Esther had come in. She had agreed to post the bond, which meant that if Aiden reneged on the conditions of the sentence, she stood to lose her house and business.

Aiden hadn’t been given any choice in the matter. The deal was made and the result was the sulky attitude in the back of the car. He’d been released into their custody, provided that they travelled to meet his custodian for the next year immediately. The alternative had been a prison van, so, ever practical, Essie had bundled her husband and younger brother into their car, dismissed the policeman who had walked them to the vehicle and set off into the darkness.