“A lot. The lady is with me.”
That accent… It was perfect English with a hint of something more exotic. An image slid into her mind and made her want to giggle. He was the man in the mask. Zorro.
“So why don’t you just leave us to it, Dracula?”
Carla made to protest, then clamped her lips together. While Zorro and Dracula beat the crap out of each other, she could quietly slip away.
“You don’t bring your own food to this kind of party, mate, and even if you do, it’s share and share alike around here,” said Dracula.
“Firstly, I’m not your mate, and second, I never share.” Zorro sneered and very beautifully, Carla decided, transfixed by his full, sensual lips. He hadn’t resorted to silly gear either, just what he’d found in his closet, by the look of it. Wow. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted this kind of scene either and was exploring or curious like her.
Dracula stepped closer until he was face-to-chest with Zorro. “Then you shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t and neither should my girlfriend. We’re both leaving.”
Carla turned her back and headed for the door. Before she knew it, Zorro’s arm was at her elbow, propelling her out onto the landing. She shook off his arm. Shit. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. But what a fire, her wicked side whispered. Although he made no attempt to touch her again, his footsteps followed her as she hobbled down the marble staircase that led to the foyer.
“Please don’t come after me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” she said, making it into the foyer without breaking her ankle.
“I’m sure you are. My question is, what on earth are you doing here?”
She turned, one hand on the polished balustrade to steady herself. What was she doing here? It was a question she’d asked herself ever since she’d managed to get an invite to this fetish party. It had been on her list of Mad Things to Do since her husband, Stephen, had died four years previously, along with giving up her job and using Stephen’s inheritance to go to university. In fact, it was only in the past few weeks that she’d finally found the courage to embrace the desires she’d pushed into the darkest corners of her subconscious while her husband was alive—and that afterwards she’d been too crushed by grief and betrayal to even contemplate.
This party was meant to be her first step, a safe, toe-in-the-water adventure suggested by a friend of a former work colleague.
She fished in her bag for her mobile. “I have no idea, and right now I’m leaving.”
Zorro sighed deeply, causing Carla to look at him more closely. His eyes were darkest caramel, glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Yes. I’m guessing we both thought this was a good idea at the time,” he said.
Sparks flew between them, or at least they flew from her to him. Even with the mask obscuring the top half of his face, she could tell he was sinfully gorgeous, and as for that accent, it made her want to drool. She couldn’t place it, but, judging by the tanned hand, she guessed he was at least partly Mediterranean. Automatically, she checked out his ring finger. There was no pale band where a ring might have been, though that didn’t mean he was single. She just couldn’t bear to hook up with a man prepared to hurt his partner the way that Stephen had done to her.
Down here in the hall, the situation had started to edge back into her comfort zone, and she smiled. “A friend of a friend I used to work with mentioned this place to me; now I wish she hadn’t. What about you?”
“Something like that… I can see you don’t belong here. Neither of us does.”
Though he hadn’t so much as touched her, the intense look he gave her reached out and caressed her whole body. She felt as if she had been stripped naked by his words. You don’t belong here. Neither of us does. The party had been a disaster, but meeting this man might be fate. She’d never felt such a powerful and instant attraction to a man before, not even with Stephen. Was this the moment when she would finally dare to take a chance? With this exotic stranger?
He’s got her tied up, but she’s got him out of control.
Out of Control
© 2014 Teresa Noelle Roberts
Glass artist Jen Kessler has hit the jackpot—a cheap apartment in a charming Victorian house, complete with a sexy, intense, buttoned-down landlord…who may or may not have a riding crop in his bedroom.
She’s not looking for a lover, but when her innocent, impulsive hug sparks kisses as hot as molten glass, it leads to bondage, spankings, and more naughtiness that, up to now, she had only tasted.
His new tenant may have wild, dyed hair and an unconventional job, but Cornell math professor Drake Matthews admires the work ethic that got her out of debt. Then he’s stunned at how quickly she destroys decades of carefully cultivated self-control.
Soon their sexual and emotional passions push them to the edge—and beyond. But it’s not all good, dirty fun. As Drake takes more and more control of Jen in the bedroom, her deeply ingrained independent streak pushes back. And it’ll take more than a shared penchant for ropes, paddling, and coffee to overcome pasts that could unravel their relationship before it begins.
Warning: Contains kinky sex, molten glass, geeky higher mathematics, family secrets, and irresponsible consumption of coffee.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Out of Control:
“Do you need a hand with anything? More coffee maybe? Or should I leave you alone to unpack?” Drake stood in the doorway, and Jen couldn’t tell if he wanted her to ask him to stay or dismiss him. He was wearing his serious, professorial face, but there was something in his eyes, something in the way he watched her, something in the way he leaned on the doorframe, lazy as a cat, but like a cat sometimes was, active in his laziness, that suggested his thoughts might be more serious than fun. Naughty, even.
“I can think of a few things I could use a hand with.” She stifled laughter. She honestly hadn’t meant it to sound suggestive, but it came out that way.
“I imagine.” Drake came closer and suddenly the room seemed very warm. Or maybe that was just her panties. “What can I do for you?” The words could just refer to all the million things involved with getting settled in a new place, and on one level, probably did.
But Drake felt that tension too. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he carried himself. He was studying her like she was prey, or maybe an opponent in some kind of contest, trying to figure out his next move. Funny thing was, he probably thought he was being subtle, but he was obviously trying to decide whether he should jump in where they’d left off or pretend it had never happened and start their acquaintance fresh.
Still, he wasn’t as awkward as a lot of guys might be. He wasn’t slobbering like a puppy who thought she had a treat in her pocket, but wasn’t ignoring her either. More like he was waiting for a clear signal.
What the hell. She decided to give him one, an opening he could take in several ways. Otherwise, she’d never get anything done, and that would be bad, right?
She’d never been the type to wait demurely for a guy to make up his mind. That was like waiting for everything to fall into place so you could quit your horrible nine-to-five job and commit to art—a great way to be old and gray and still waiting. You had to make things fall into place, whether you were talking about work or relationships. Create opportunities. The worst that would happen in either case was you’d fall on your face. And then you got up, brushed yourself off and tried something different.
She stood up from the floor, where she’d been sorting through a box. “How about welcoming me to the house properly,” she said, her voice slipping to a sultry whisper almost despite herself, and held out her hand.
Drake took her hand, shook it in a friendly but businesslike way. “Glad to have you here.” God, his hands were big.
He stepped closer, not letting go of her hand, close enough she could feel the heat of his body. A shudder ran through her, made up of equal parts desire and confusion. She felt paralyzed. Jen’s norma
l impulse would be to kiss this man, who seemed like he wanted desperately to kiss her but was holding back. At least pull him into a hug, make it clear she was interested. Yet she couldn’t move, trapped by his serious gray eyes, the heat of his touch, the set of his mouth under that tidy beard.
“You confound me,” he said, his voice harsh, dark. “Jen, Jen, Jen, what am I going to do with you?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“So do I. Problem is, while we’d both enjoy these ideas, I’m not sure they’re smart.” Jen froze, unable even to breathe. At least they were on the same page about wanting each other. She wanted to ask him if he truly cared if it was a bad idea, to make it clear she was all about the good-bad ideas, say she even had a clue what those ideas might entail, but she couldn’t speak.
“The hell with it. Smart is overrated.” Drake’s voice came out as a growl, nothing Jen could imagine in a civilized Cornell classroom but could definitely imagine in a bedroom. He reeled her in, pulled her against his hard body.
She felt small and soft. Normally that would make her want to demonstrate her strength—which, thanks to her active life, was surprising for someone who looked more like the petite-flower type. But she liked feeling small and soft in Drake’s arms, with Drake’s mouth crashing down onto hers.
He lifted her up effortlessly, not breaking the kiss, and carried her toward the unmade bed. My God, what did this man do for a workout? This mathematician had muscles like a cowboy. Holding her with one arm, he swept piles and bags of clothes off the bed onto the floor. She saw a wince cross his face as he did it, as if it offended the sense of order she’d seen reflected in his side of the house. “Don’t worry,” she joked, “my clothes are used to spending time on the floor.”
“Not for much longer,” she thought he said. She would have puzzled at the words, except Drake distracted her by pulling her T-shirt off with one decisive motion. She had accidentally packed all her bras last night. At the moment, this seemed like the best accident ever. Drake studied her bared curves, running his big hands along her sides. She purred and arched up. His hands moved to her nipples, began caressing in a gentle, exploratory way, not what she would have expected from his earlier fierceness. Lovely but too light for her taste, it teased and tickled as much as it aroused. She squealed and tried to squirm away at the same time she arched her hips up to meet his, turned on and tormented at same time. The pleasure was almost painful, in the same paradoxical way pain, in the right circumstances and with the right person, could be pleasurable.
“Too much?”
“Too little. I like it rougher.” Not something she’d admit to most guys this soon, for fear they’d take it too far, but Avi’s words inspired confidence. The woman wrote about safe BDSM practices for a living, after all, and she’d said Drake was all right.
Drake chuckled. “Good.” Her brain was whirling like cotton candy in one of those machines at the county fair and felt just about as pink and fluffy, but his tone registered. Evil glee, definitely. She was in trouble, but it was the kind of trouble she loved. With one hand, he began pinching first one nipple, then the other, tugging and kneading. Delicious pleasure and equally delicious pain seared through her. “Good girl. Put your arms over your head.”
She obeyed. She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to help herself. Why wouldn’t she play along? This was the best thing that had happened to her in a long, long, long time that didn’t involve making art.
He grabbed her wrists with his other hand, his grip viselike, unbreakable. Heat pooled in her belly, and she couldn’t help whimpering.
“Do you enjoy restraint, Jen?”
She nodded. “Oh yeah.” She felt like she should say something more, something about their mutual friend, even, but the time for intelligent dialogue was either past or yet to come, at least on her end. Drake was talking just fine, but maybe it took longer for hormones to shut down his extra-smart brain.
“Would you enjoy a lot of restraint? Rope bondage, maybe?”
She nodded again, unable to speak. Her eyes felt like they were as wide as a cartoon character’s, taking up her whole face. Avi had experimented on her with rope back in college—just practicing a few ties on her, nothing more—and she’d gotten a kick out of it. With Drake in charge, and actual sex involved, it would be heaven.
“Excellent.” Drake chuckled, and it was the kind of chuckle you’d expect from a supervillain whose evil plan was coming together.
Maybe she was in a bit over her head.
Hurray! Over your head was fun.
And she had it on good authority that he was an ethical perv, not an ax murderer.
“Right now,” he said, “I think we’re both feeling too impatient for rope. Which means we should do it anyway, once we’ve gotten a few things out of our system. You need to learn patience and order. Luckily, I’m here to help you.”
Jen’s head spun. She knew how to sprinkle kink into sex, like a touch of brilliant color to set off clear glass. Still, beyond playful spanking and casual bandana-and-stocking bondage, beyond flipping a coin to see who’d take tongue-in-cheek charge in bed on a particular night, she hadn’t explored very far since rooming with Avi in college. She’d looked at Web sites, especially ones Avi had recommended on her own site, and she’d listened to a few erotica audiobooks, but she was definitely a beginner.
Drake wasn’t. Even if she wasn’t already clued in, she could guess. It was in the way he’d been touching her ever since she’d told him she liked a firmer touch, but more than that, it was in his voice. In his eyes.
She strove for words, tried to say the words that hovered on her lips: You’re a dom. Not just a guy who liked to dabble in kink once in a while, but a serious dom. But she couldn’t make the words come out.
French Blue
Natasha Bond
The past can color the future…or wipe the canvas clean.
Study in Seduction, Book 2
In public, hotshot communications specialist Lisa Archer presents a perfectly polished image. Privately, she harbors a secret desire to shed her restrained exterior—and her business suit—to explore the world of discipline and domination.
She can’t risk being seen in a BDSM club, but when she’s introduced to the most sought-after Dom in Paris, his powerful presence makes her feel like she’s treading on safe ground. Even better, he has no interest in falling in love, which fits right in with her three-month break between contracts.
Bored with the club scene, Olivier favors private arrangements with one sub at a time. This keeps anyone from getting too close to emotional scars that run so deep he’s lost the will to paint—or to love. A temporary liaison, staying well within his boundaries while pushing hers, suits him perfectly.
Lisa’s first visit to Olivier’s apartment is deliciously shocking. Yet as they begin to strip away the layers guarding their souls, the pain and the pleasure could be too much to keep things strictly business…
Warning: Contains a smart, sassy heroine who thinks she’s in control—and a gorgeous French Dom who knows he is. Lots of gettin’ naked, in private and in public. A bit of voyeurism, a bit more spanking, and more hot sex than you can shake a riding crop at.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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Cincinnati OH 45249
French Blue
Copyright © 2014 by Natasha Bond
ISBN: 978-1-61922-131-4
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Lyn Taylor
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this boo
k may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2014
www.samhainpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
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