Take Me (The Submission Games Book 2) Read online

  We’re finally together the way we always should have been.

  The way we’re always going to be.

  Some men’s kisses make your heart skip a beat.

  Mark’s kisses make my heart remember how.

  He softly strokes my shoulders and arms. “So, what’s this I hear about a competition?”

  I roll my hips. “A competition?”

  He nods. “Tell me more about these Submission Games.”

  The End

  Stay tuned for an excerpt from Vibrato—a standalone rocker romance, now available on Amazon!

  Also by Tamara Mataya

  *Vibrato (A sexy standalone)—It was supposed to be one blistering night with a stranger. Turns out, Dylan wasn’t completely honest about who he is...but Rachel’s got secrets of her own... https://www.amazon.com/Vibrato-Tamara-Mataya-ebook/dp/B07587GVH1

  *Make Me (Book 1 in The Submission Games)—Investigative journalist Sloane Winters thought she wanted the truth about the BDSM Club that swallowed her sister. But the truth doesn’t always set you free. https://www.amazon.com/Make-Me-Submission-Games-Book-ebook/dp/B00RKO49RE

  *MISSED CONNECTIONS (Book 1 Summer Love)—The bad boy she can’t keep, or the sensitive stranger who bares his soul online? Sarah must decide which man is the one for her...before her meddling hippie bosses ruin everything. https://www.amazon.com/Missed-Connections-Summer-Love-Book-ebook/dp/B01AO207G0

  *SUMMER INDISCRETIONS (Book 2 Summer Love)—1200 miles from home. One off-limits crush. One Nude beach. This uptight New Yorker’s summer just got a whole lot sexier... https://www.amazon.com/Summer-Indiscretions-Love-Book-ebook/dp/B01KMISK1K

  *I DON’T! (A NOVELLA)—If a great romance requires a grand gesture, a great break-up deserves a one-of-a-kind blowout! https://www.amazon.com/I-Dont-Tamara-Mataya-ebook/dp/B01GBU2XQG

  *THE SOWING (BOOK 1 of The Moondreamer Chronicles)—Learning she’s Fae and has powers should have been the coolest day of Syxx’s life. Instead, she’s plunged into a decades-long battle of free will vs survival. She’s got three options: Submit (no!), die (hell no!), or start a revolution... https://www.amazon.com/Sowing-Moondreamer-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B00ZGTJX12

  *THE REAPING (BOOK 2 of The Moondreamer Chronicles)—Three weeks after The Sowing. Four High Council members to track down and neutralize. The highest of fives for keeping things together...so far. When an attack hits close to home, Syxx and Draven must forge new allies and reach out to uneasy ones. Some may not share the same goals, but it’s the ones trying to kill her she’s got to focus on. https://www.amazon.com/Reaping-Moondreamer-Chronicles-Book-ebook/dp/B075HVQZNW

  Acknowledgments:

  -Jessa Russo, you’re the real MVP of this whirlwind romance and how slow and then FUCKING LIGHTNING FAST this book came together. Even though you yell at me, you make me want to be a better man. *Slips on Jack Nicholson shades and stands outside your window* Love you! I can’t think of anything profound to put here because my brain is mush and you’re yelling at me to add another sex scene, so, just know I’m listening to you for once. And if THAT isn’t love, I don’t know what is. ;)

  -To the REAL Mark James. I hope you had fun reading about your slutty alter-ego! Thanks for being a good sport about letting me use your name.

  -To Maggie, for all the shenanigans and laughs and inside information for character research. You’re one of my favourite people. I miss you already! Thanks for letting me use your boys’ names! There are more coming. Mwah ha ha.

  -To Cait Greer for the gorgeous covers! *heart eyes forever*

  -To the readers and fans, I know this one was a long time coming. Thanks for your patience and support. <3 You keep reading them and I’ll keep writing them.

  TAMARA MATAYA IS A New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, and a musician with synesthesia. As a former librarian, armed with a name tag and a thin veneer of credibility, she took great delight in recommending books and shushing people. She puts the 'she' in TWSS and the B in LGBTQIA+. She’s the co-creator of Pitchmas, a bi-annual pitch contest for writers, a Pitchwars mentor, and as a freelance editor has worked with New York Times Bestselling authors.

  If you loved this story or any of my others, please leave a review on Amazon! Readers don’t always realize how very vital honest, spoiler-free reviews are for us, but we truly appreciate every single one.

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  And now, please enjoy your sneak peek of VIBRATO...

  Author’s Note:

  When I wrote this book in 2015 it was originally released as BADASS IN MY BED under a pen name. (I am not connected to that pen name). I recently got the rights back to the book and I’m so glad I finally get to put my own name (and new title!) on VIBRATO and share it with my readers!

  This book is dedicated to my shameless smut lovers.

  Some people said this book has too much sex.

  I know you’ll rise to the challenge. ;)

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m not all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.

  Alexandria—Alex—sets my rosé in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.

  I take a sip of the crisp, cool wine. Passable for a bar’s stock. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I listen to the chorus for a moment. “What song is this?”

  “Oh, Rachel.” Her blond curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”

  I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago she told me to ‘set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.’ Fittingly, Alex is all about alliteration. “It’s not that I have anything against pop; it’s that when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home. There’s not enough time and—”

  “You unwind with silence, not the radio, I know.”

  I tilt my head. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”

  Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”

  Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype so I can say things that make you blush.”

  “I will.” I drown the lump of emotion in my throat with more wine.

  Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure—we didn’t have to fight for a table to ourselves. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s the last day we could meet before I get on that plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long and I want to make it count. “It’s not too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”

  “True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”

  “Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation. Three women in identically too-tight Bears shirts shimmy to the beat a couple tables over. Two young, bearded men hunch over beers, conversation at a standstill between them.
A couple guys with skin tight jeans and fancy cocktails argue with animated hand gestures by the wall. Typical mix for this part of town.

  A guy sitting a booth by himself catches my eye, but he’s too far away to have heard and is definitely not my type. Shaggy dark hair, tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps—and one creeping up his neck—he’s got trouble written all over him.

  “A little embarrassment is nothing compared to you abandoning me for Bean Town.” Alex pushes her lips into a cherry red pout.

  I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.”

  “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”

  It feels like I just got here despite the months and years of hard work, dedicating myself to my degrees at the expense of nearly everything else. I pushed myself nearly to the point of breaking, but it paid off. Mostly.

  Alex’s friendship was an accident. We met at the library, both reaching for the same book of Italian. Me, because I was brushing up on some of the lyrics to an opera, and her for the Italian Language course she was in at the time. Instead of pulling attitude, we shared the book and the afternoon laying the foundation for our friendship.

  “Something tells me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more, or unexpectedly showing up and refusing to take no for an answer. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to blow off steam and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft. Landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something missing in my life. Maybe if there’d been more time...

  A tall guy with a backwards cap leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.

  “This is all your dad’s fault.” Alex’s voice is bitter.

  Looking away from the bad boy, I drain half my glass. “My father’s still mortified I got my Masters. ‘Wasn’t a Bachelor’s in cello a big enough waste of my money and your time?’ As though I’m not taking life seriously by learning about music. Most people’s parents would be ecstatic if their child wanted to expand their education.”

  “If they could afford Northwestern’s tuition.” Alex is still meandering her way through the linguistics department, having switched from Italian to Slavic, finally settling nicely into German Literature and Critical Thought. If she’d buckled down sooner she’d have graduated with me—and saved a lot of money—but she’s happiest when dabbling and an inheritance from her grandmother allows her to do it.

  “He insisted on paying.” I draw swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip.

  “Not like he’ll let you forget that.”

  “Seriously. I should have taken out student loans—maybe that would have earned his respect.”

  “Probably not.”

  “He’ll stay mortified by my career choice until I can prove ‘m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.” He prefers when he has control over what I’m doing out on my own. After all, I have to be careful how I represent the family. “I got accepted to one of the most prestigious music schools in the country and you know what he said when I graduated? ‘If you’d gone to Julliard, you’d already be a star.’”

  She grimaces. “And probably one of those weird prodigies who are so far up their own asses they can’t function in the real world.”

  “Or they crash and burn by the time they’re thirty and can’t ever play another note without twitching. I can’t imagine ever hating music like that.” I take an extra big gulp of rosé.

  “Your dad’s so shitty.”

  “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I prop my head on my fist and sigh. I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. He probably doesn’t answer to anyone.

  “You okay?”

  “This move is taking a lot out of me. You don’t realize how heavy records and books are until you have to box hundreds of them up.” I roll my shoulders to ease some of the tension.

  “If you’d switch to digital like the rest of the world...”

  “Records have a warmer sound, and I can slow them down, or—”

  She laughs, having successfully baited me. “I know! And hey, I offered to help you pack.”

  “I appreciate that. But it’s better if I do it myself, then I know where everything is. And the packing helps make it all seem more real.”

  Alex squeezes more lime into her beer. “It’s only been three months since graduation. I think you could have held out a little longer, lived a little more before going.”

  “Three months is three months too long, according to my father. He’s already threatened to cut me off—I’m lucky I have this opportunity.” To get him off my back. Guilt punctuates the thought. In a way, he truly wants what’s best for me. Reputation and status are everything to him; neither of us could take the disgrace of me not succeeding. I have to make it work or the sacrifices I’ve made to secure my future will have been for nothing. “Even though I’m not sure this is the way I want to use my degree, it’s the only thing that will please him. It’s a compromise I can live with. It’s a huge change, though. At least I’ll be playing.”

  “It’s a hell of a price to pay though.” The directness of her stare unnerves me.

  “I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. How likely is it that a random stranger in a bar will end up being Mr. Right? The guy with the tattoos smirks at something on his phone, the soft glow illuminating his very nice mouth, finally giving me a clearer look at his face.

  Striking, strangely beautiful. Strong jaw and nose, his full lips smirking at something on his phone. The kind of mouth you could stare at for hours, memorizing the way it shapes words and slides into sexy smiles.

  I shake my head. Having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style. He’s the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan—the other road I didn’t take. Now that I’ve made my choice, locked in my future, it’s natural to be curious about what might have been.

  I bet he’s all about chance encounters and not having a plan. Spontaneity stresses me out. But what if it’s more than that? I take another large sip of wine before asking the question that’s been hanging over my head since I agreed to take the job in Boston. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

  Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”

  “But?”

  She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “It feels so final. I just hope it’s what you really want.”

  It has to be. Besides, what am I really giving up? I never had the time to really make much of a life here. Uprooting isn’t that big of a deal—other than missing her. “It is.”

  “Then you’re not making a mistake. But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”

  I hide my face in my hands. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who practices fingering. For hours at a time, I might add.”

  “For music.” I laugh, now warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, I’m not remotely attracted to anyone in the bar.”

  Except for him.

  My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be cool, wet with condensation as he ran it over my—

  “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

  “To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.

  “Tall, dark, and delicious over th
ere. I’ve noticed you checking him out and I approve! He’s alone, you’re alone—”

  “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting in some quality girl time in before I move.”

  “You need to get it in before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”

  I couldn’t.

  Could I?

  There’s a leather jacket slung over the booth beside him and the tight cling of his jeans to his leg gives me a flutter low in my belly. We wouldn’t fit. But I bet he’d know exactly how to make things fit. And style’s not really an issue when no one’s wearing clothes. “He’s not my type.”

  “What’s your type? Uptight?”

  What is my type? “Studious.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Passionless.”

  “I like nice guys.” Guys my father would approve of. “Guys who appreciate that I need to practice music for hours a day, and don’t have the time to fawn all over them while pursuing my career. Respectable.”

  “Uptight,” she repeats with a smirk.

  “Compatible.”

  “Boring. We’re going for Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right, Rachel. One night with hm isn’t going to deter you from your dreams.”

  She has a point. I subtly tip my head in his direction, referring to the stranger. “He’s such a...”

  “Perfect Badass?”

  I wouldn’t have said it, but it’s the perfect description. “Yes.” What would one night with someone like that be like? And why do I keep tracing the long lines of his jean-clad legs with my gaze? Squinting through the dimness to better see his face. What color are his eyes? I shake myself, realizing her arguments are making this seem way too tempting. It doesn’t matter. “No, I couldn’t.”