Yield (Bay Area Professionals Book 5) Read online

  YIELD

  BAY AREA PROFESSIONALS

  MICKIE B. ASHLING

  Table of Contents

  Yield

  Acknowledgements

  Author’s Note

  Blurb

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About the Author

  Contact the Author

  Also by Mickie B. Ashling

  Acknowledgements

  A writer would be nothing without a reliable group of editors, proofers, and copywriters. I’d like to acknowledge my stalwart team at Superior Author Services—Jason, April, and Ashley—for their invaluable help. My gratitude extends to dedicated beta readers—Jeannie, Sharon, April, and Shaz—for taking the time to preview my work and make helpful suggestions to improve the overall reading experience.

  Author’s Note

  Although Yield is the fifth book in the Bay Area Professional Series, it can be read as a standalone. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This book contains intense BDSM elements such as blindfolds, restraints, flogging, breath play, and knife play. Additional triggers include humiliation, rape outside of BDSM scenes, PTSD, and racial profiling prior to therapy.

  Blurb

  A Sequel to Forged in Trust

  Bay Area Professionals

  A promising encounter takes a dark turn.

  Captain Sami Soros and Father Jay Blackstone cross paths at a major European hub. When systems shut down due to a cyber-attack, flights are delayed and the resulting chaos is unprecedented.

  After having served three tours in Afghanistan, recently discharged Sami struggles with his new civilian status. Emotionally depleted, and dangerously edgy, he views most of his fellowmen with utter contempt.

  Jay is returning to his parish in San Francisco after a month-long retreat meant to shore up a crumbling vocation. All vestiges of spirituality melt away when he sets eyes on Sami.

  They begin a clandestine affair fueled by a shared addiction to extreme forms of BDSM. Their relationship goes off the rails, and Jay reaches out to Rino Duran, a former seminarian. With the help of Dr. Ethan Marshall, Rino’s full-time Dom, the established couple attempt to separate truth from lies to give Jay and Sami a shot at happiness.

  Copyright

  Cover Artist: Book Cover Zone

  Editor: Jason Bradley

  Copy Editor: Ashley Garza

  Proofing: April Dawn

  Formatting: Shaz Formatting

  Yield © 2018 Mickie B. Ashling

  First Edition 2018

  All Rights Reserved:

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Warning

  Intended for an 18 + audience only. This book contains material that maybe offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.

  Trademarks:

  All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Chapter 1

  February 2018

  Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport is crowded on any given day, but the scene unfolding when I walked off the Jetway into the arrival area was absolute pandemonium. Twelve hours ago, the computer running the intricate network of arrivals and departures at this gigantic European hub—ranked third busiest in number of total passengers per year—had been hacked. The domino effect of delayed or canceled flights resulted in a maelstrom of missed connections, lost baggage, and queue upon queue of clueless passengers looking for solutions. Weddings, honeymoons, funerals, river cruises, bus tours, reunions, and once-in-a-lifetime business opportunities were too important to be derailed by a bunch of dark-web bandits. Normally efficient and accommodating personnel were inundated with impossible requests, and tempers were pushed to the limit.

  I’d expected a two-hour layover before catching my flight back to San Francisco via Chicago, but my trip from northern Spain had been delayed by an unexpected snowstorm. The result was catastrophic in terms of connections, and I was one among thousands trying to find my way home. There was no point in browbeating anyone for better results as my angry voice would fall on deaf ears.

  According to the giant monitors advising weary travelers of time and gate changes, my flight was supposed to board at Gate F6. The seats were all taken when I arrived at my destination, and a quick scan of the adjoining gates revealed more of the same. I’d end up on the floor for an undetermined amount of time unless the airline brought in more chairs.

  As I considered my next move, my attention was drawn to a guy dressed from head to toe in unadulterated black. His face and hands were deeply bronzed, incongruous amidst the throng of pasty winter complexions. Squint lines radiated from wide-set eyes, and a thin scar sliced through one dark winged eyebrow. The resulting asymmetry changed the stranger from model perfect to dangerously attractive.

  The month I’d recently spent at the Sanctuary of Loyola in Azpeitia, Spain, the ancestral home of St. Ignatius, had been an inspirational setting meant to reaffirm my faith and strengthen my resolve to stay the course. A great waste of time, I thought bitterly, all the while checking out the stranger’s physical attributes. When he met my gaze, my stomach clenched, and I quickly looked away, hyperaware of my thundering heartbeat.

  Most sensible men would have turned their backs when confronted with temptation, but I was at my most vulnerable. Daring another look, I found him digging through his pea-green duffel. Along with his puffy jacket, the bag was taking up the adjoining seat, which could be mine for the taking. Resolved to correct the immediate problem, I stomped his way with determination. Some sixth sense must have alerted him because he lifted his head and tracked my progress with hawklike intensity.

  I pointed at the spot occupied by his possessions, expecting an immediate response. Instead, his grayish-green eyes narrowed with suspicion. When I didn’t move, he clenched his jaw, gathered up his things, and dropped them on the floor by his feet.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, settling on the molded plastic chair.

  He ignored me.

  The buzz cut, laced boots, duffel, and edgy demeanor screamed military, but the turtleneck and cargo pants gave nothing away. He wore no distinguishing pins to indicate if he was one of ours or a member of some foreign entity. Trying to ascertain more was impossible while he continued to treat me like I was
an interloper. While other passengers twitched in discomfort and fiddled with electronic devices, my stranger sat with his arms and legs crossed and scanned the crowd with a predatory stare. I wasn’t qualified to judge, but I got a strong feeling he’d be a formidable fighter if pushed.

  His silence was oppressive, and under normal circumstances, I would have attempted a conversation. People usually responded favorably to a cleric, but my dark shirt and white collar were packed away, replaced by more practical winter wear. A thermal undershirt, flannel top, fleece-lined jeans, and sturdy hiking boots had served me well while I tramped the snow-covered pathways in the Basque country. It also worked as a disguise, allowing me to forget I was a priest in crisis with unfinished business back home in San Francisco.

  An announcement came through the loudspeaker in Dutch, followed by the same in English, French, and Spanish. There would be another two-hour delay, and free vouchers were offered to anyone interested in a light snack until we were allowed to board.

  “Someone will snatch my seat if I leave,” the stranger commented irritably.

  “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen if you’ll get me something to eat.”

  He glared at me. “How can I be sure you won’t run off with my things?”

  Incredulous, I asked, “Do I look like a hardened criminal?”

  “You look like you lost your herd somewhere in the Alps.”

  “I’ve been called a shepherd on occasion.”

  “Can I trust you?” he asked skeptically.

  “I’m more interested in black coffee and a sandwich than whatever treasures you might have in your duffel.”

  “I’ll hunt you down if you’re lying,” he warned menacingly. “Is there anything you dislike by way of food?”

  I shook my head.

  “Allergies?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be back shortly.”

  I admired his retreating figure as he walked away. Easily over six feet, he was prepossessing, drawing the eyes of men and women alike as he picked his way through the crowd.

  Questioning my ethics was understandable, considering our circumstances, but it set me to thinking about my past. All my life, I’d been judged by my DNA, which, by all accounts, left much to be desired. The man who’d given me life was a masterful liar, and my mother wasn’t equipped to deal with his manipulative personality. She was seduced, impregnated, and subsequently rushed to the altar by her indignant parents. Predictably, Jack Underwood took off when I was three, packing enough clothes for a short business trip. He never returned, and from then on, it was only a question of time before my grandparents convinced my mother to get rid of me.

  I was dispatched to an orphanage in another state where I cried myself to sleep each night. The people in charge offered no explanation, but assured me I wouldn’t be there long. Blond and blue-eyed children were always scooped up first. Within months, I was adopted by the Blackstone family, who changed my name from Jack Jr. to Justin. And thus began my second incarnation.

  My new parents were kind but unaffectionate, and they had high expectations. Once I was of school age and my test scores came back in the upper percentile, they reduced my daily chores so I could excel in class. While other boys tore up the football field, I spent hours studying. I turned into the nerdy bookworm, longing to be with other kids but never given the opportunity. Complaining didn’t work and only intensified my parents’ resolve to keep me focused.

  Such a sheltered existence didn’t prepare me for adolescence. When I dared to broach questions about the changes occurring in my body and my desire to socialize, my parents urged me to pray. They didn’t hesitate to remind me I was the spawn of an unconscionable man and a feckless woman who’d discarded me without hesitation. It undermined any stability I’d gained since my adoption and added another layer to my feelings of unworthiness.

  Leaving home to join the seminary was an acceptable means of escape, and to my way of thinking, a life spent in the service of God, in a regulated and safe environment, would be beneficial. I couldn’t become a hedonist like my biological father if I surrounded myself with deeply religious men.

  Unfortunately, the desire for a physical connection with another human didn’t disappear with my vows of chastity. It was the most difficult part of the priesthood, and I employed methods of abstinence used by holy men through the ages. Fasting, silent meditation, and physical activity offered some relief, but it was short-lived. Somehow, I’d managed to get through a dozen years without giving in to temptation, but then the internet happened, and previously locked doors were flung open. I couldn’t forget the easily accessible images and no amount of prayer could bank the need.

  Which brought me full circle to this place in time. I was a thirty-year-old virgin returning from a spiritual retreat that had provided no answers. Nature was threatening to overcome nurture, and I was no more settled than the day I’d left my parish. My physical reaction to a stranger’s gaze was all I needed to tell me the hours spent on my knees in silent contemplation had failed to banish my demons.

  “Here you go.” The stranger’s outstretched hands with my coffee and sandwich jerked me back to the present.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I hope you like ham and cheese,” he remarked. “The other choice was deviled egg and cucumber.”

  “This is fine. My name is Jay by the way. I think we’ve gone past the point of being total strangers.”

  “Samael,” he rejoined. “But you can call me Sami.”

  I didn’t blame him for leaving out the rest of his pertinent information since he was following my lead, and I was less than forthcoming. We finished our snacks in silence, and I gathered our trash and dumped it into the closest bin just as a fresh announcement came over the speaker. Passengers booked on flight 1326 to San Francisco were asked to report to the KLM counter.

  We were informed there was an overbooking problem caused by the massive communication breakdown, and the only way we could board this outbound flight was to upgrade to business class.

  “I can’t afford it,” I informed the agent, unable to mask my disappointment. Not without prior approval. I had no money of my own, and there was no one I could call at this hour to get the okay. I’d have to wait it out until they could accommodate me on the next flight.

  Sami handed the representative a credit card. “You can put both our tickets on this.”

  My eyes widened in shock. “No, I won’t allow it.”

  “Pay me back another time.”

  “Very generous of you but unacceptable nonetheless.”

  “Listen,” Sami said in a tired voice. “I can afford it. Take the gift without turning this into a federal case.”

  “But I—”

  “No buts,” he interrupted. Turning back to the KLM representative, he asked, “Are we set?”

  “Yes, sir.” She handed us our boarding passes.

  I’d never been in business class before and was delighted by the wider seats and extra legroom. I stored my carryall in the overhead bin and asked Sami if he preferred the aisle or window seat. He chose the aisle, which worked for me. I enjoyed watching terra firma drop away as we climbed into the heavens. Plus, I liked having the wall to brace my pillow.

  Once again, I attempted small talk, but Sami’s responses were clipped and put a damper on my enthusiasm. It was after dinner was served and the cabin lights were dimmed when I realized he was waiting for this quiet time to make his move.

  The hand on my thigh shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Everything had a price and my upgrade was about to be repaid in a way I’d read about but never experienced. The most shocking part of the encounter was my body’s reaction to Sami’s touch. I’d always assumed my first time would be with a woman, but I found myself responding to this man.

  “Are you okay with this?” he whispered.

  I nodded. Even if I wanted to say no, my traitorous body wouldn’t let me. I was finally going to experience what I’d been dreaming about
for umpteen thousand years. The blue blanket I’d been given upon embarking was spread out on my lap, so I knew our movements were hidden from the general public. The all-seeing eye didn’t factor into my current plans. I was beyond redemption at this point, and no amount of conscious thought would keep this from happening. I spread my legs and trembled in anticipation as his hand moved toward my groin.

  “How long has it been?” he asked in a husky voice.

  I turned in his direction, and the passion in those feral eyes set fire to my starving libido. “Too long.”

  “I thought so,” he said. “We can both use a little reprieve.”

  None of my fantasies came close to the real thing, and I struggled to keep my voice down as he undid my fly and reached into my briefs. When his warm fingers gripped my cock, I released within seconds.

  “You sure were hard up,” he commented, following it up with a low chuckle.

  I was mortified but swamped with a new wave of lust when Sami licked cum off the palm of his hand. His satisfied purrs were baffling. I’d always considered ejaculate a filthy byproduct of a weak moment, yet here he was lapping away with satisfaction. What was I missing?

  “You look shocked,” Sami commented when he was done.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize; just return the favor.”

  Matching his movements with far less expertise, I applied myself to the task, admiring the way he managed to keep himself under control even while he spent. I caught most of it in my cupped hand, and he indicated my next move with a jerk of his head. My humiliation was superseded by a craving I couldn’t explain. The starchy odor of his spend combined with the fire in his eyes made my cock thicken once more. I might have whimpered as I licked my hand.

  “Good boy.” His approval worked wonders on my flagging cock.

  “You must be used to sex on the go,” I remarked after I licked up the last drop. Sami tasted like nothing I’d expected, but I was going to remember this forever.

  “It’s the only kind I’ve known for the last decade.”

  “Must have been difficult.”