She needs a Dom.A stalker wants to own her.
Grayson is a born Dominant – and owning LifeS is exactly where he belongs. With a new underground fight arena ready to launch, he’s missing only one thing: a fighter strong enough to survive it.
Lexi has survived worse.
Haunted by PTSD, Lexi trusts no one but herself. She runs her own gym, makes her own rules, and refuses to submit – to anyone. But beneath her iron control lies a perilous secret. One that threatens to consume her… unless she can find a Dom.
When Grayson and Lexi collide, desire isn’t the only thing at stake.
Welcome to the LifeStyle.
“What if…” Lexi trailed off, literally leaving him hanging on the edge of his seat.
Being coy didn’t seem to be in her personality, so he doubted she was making him frustrated intentionally. Whatever it was, it was obviously important to her, so he’d wait.
In one breath, she turned back to him and said in a quiet voice, “What if I’ve never actually had a Dom before?”
His jaw went slack and his mind blanked.
“Excuse me?”
Now that she’d said it, Lexi seemed more at ease, which was more than he could say for himself. Her posture had relaxed, and her brown eyes were steady on his, no longer roaming the walls.
“I’ve never had a Dom before.”
Grayson rubbed his jaw, then the back of his neck, and just stared at her. With a long, quiet sigh, he sat back from her. Her eyes followed him. Of course. It all made fucking sense.
Her hesitancy, her fighting herself, and especially not understanding her role as his sub. Whether it was turning into something real or just for the fights, how could he make her understand?
Grayson found his own eyes straying behind the bar, and tapped on the hardwood top as he thought. And decided. There was nothing else to be done. He checked his watch.
“When do you have to be at work?” he asked.
If she was surprised by his question, she didn’t show it, but just looked at her phone.
“Two and a half hours. Why?”
“That’s enough time to start,” he said, standing up and taking her hand again to pull her gently off the stool.
“Start what?” she asked.
Levering the stools back up on top of the bar, he placed his hand at the small of her back to direct them out of the lounge and back towards the new arena.
“Training.”
Kasey grew up on the East Coast, from Maine to North Carolina. She loves two things above all in nature: the water, and the forest. While she might not love her nightmares, they do inspire many of her works. A recipient of the Editor's Choice Award from the International Library of Poetry, she writes across several genres. She and her dog can be found investigating new hiking trails, or curled up on the couch as he pushes her computer off her lap to make room for himself. 
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Sounds really good.
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