Rewriting the Rules

by Morganna Williams

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  More Stormy Night Books by Morganna Williams

  Morganna Williams Links

  Rewriting the Rules

  By

  Morganna Williams

  Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Morganna Williams

  Copyright © 2017 by Stormy Night Publications and Morganna Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Williams, Morganna

  Rewriting the Rules

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by Shutterstock/Gabriel Georgescu and 123RF/Monika Mlynek

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Chapter One

  August 12, 2012

  Blog Journal—Aurora Kane

  Earlier today, when I wiped the steam from the mirror and studied my pensive reflection, I was not surprised by what I saw. The spirited sparkle that used to be clear even to me was gone; I’d worked hard to suppress it and the quick wit that went along with it.

  It had taken a lot of work… it’s difficult to kill your basic nature, but it can be done. The soft look that used to be on my face was also lost; a casualty along the way and my journey was almost done.

  Years ago I’d smiled often, joked with friends and family easily… I hardly saw any of them anymore… too many questions of why I didn’t laugh or joke much… what was wrong with me these days?

  I retreated from almost everyone I knew. It was easier that way. Easier for me to cram it all, everything that made my life hard—my passion, my laughter, my soul—into a deep hole far away from the light of day where I didn’t have to deal with people.

  In my defense I did try, once long ago… I tried to live and love… which is not altogether as expected in the world of BDSM. You have to be something a dom or a master would want… or you’re doomed to live in a world of unsatisfied need. The life of a submissive is subject to the whims of others… they either love you or they don’t and if they don’t you’re dead in the water.

  Unfortunately, in the process of looking for the dom of your dreams other needs are woken. Things you don’t even realize are inside of you. You discover that beneath your laughter and ready smile lurks a sexual beast you’ve never met… one that hungers for dark and dirty things best not discussed in the light of day.

  Is it fortunate or unfortunate to meet the wrong dom for you but one that is still capable of waking the beast? Wouldn’t it have been better to leave the beast sleeping than to have a taste of what it brings to the table and then have it snatched away, leaving you in a constant state of aching need you don’t think you’ll ever escape? That can take a person to the brink of madness. At first you try… you think “someone will want me… someone will love me… I’m not that bad… or am I?”

  No one wants a sassy or disrespectful sub… especially one with a penchant for disaster. That lesson finally learned, attempts are made to change… to become the type of sub a dom will want someday.

  You learn, you’re always respectful and obedient… the witty quips and comebacks that used to make people laugh and the spark of mischief once so ingrained can be locked deep inside if you try.

  What’s left is a quiet, respectful sub… still eager to please… to take pleasure in being pleasing… but somehow without the spark you are now invisible, because what’s left is an empty shell with no substance. Still no one wants you… you are alone.

  Eventually, you give up… why try?

  Am I bitter? No, not really, I’m not even sad… it is what it is… life is what you make it and sometimes the world of make-believe is a much better place.

  I give it all to my stories; all the pent-up passion, the spark, the laughter, and even the love… it comes alive again in the characters in my mind, and in their world, full rich lives are lived.

  A world in which there is someone for everyone… there is always love… there is always a happy ending. The perfect dom for each and every sub exists.

  They say you can’t close Pandora’s Box once it has been opened. The box that holds all your passion and need for those dark and dirty things… at first you think it’s not possible that you will ache and hurt with need forever… needs that can be partially assuaged by a little battery-operated play time… but those too can be tamped down.

  All the battery-operated toys have to go first and you can’t touch yourself, even when you want to come so bad you’re almost in tears. Ignore it… it’s necessary to kill this part of yourself too if you want to survive.

  It takes time… a lot of time but eventually the need goes away if it’s completely ignored long enough. It’s kind of like plants without sunlight… at first they reach and reach trying to find some warmth but when none is forthcoming, they wither and die.

  Passion as it exists in real life can wither and die too if you work hard enough to kill it; then it can be locked back in that little box of Pandora’s, never to see the light of day again.

  Yes, you can close Pandora’s Box after it has been opened; it’s hard but you can do it. I did.

  Once it’s done you can survive… the hurting stops and the unsettled feeling in the pit of your tummy… the part of you that needs love and nurturing… it’s gone too; there is no need in my world.

  No passion… no love… no laughter… no people except of course the ones in my head.

  I’m alone but I don’t hurt because I killed my soul.

  Donovan reread the entry three times and shook his head. Aurora was a problem. He’d only been her editor a short time; they’d never met in person because she refused to come to the office.

  The three times they’d spoken on the phone, the woman had been borderline rude. She’d listened to his critique of her latest chapters, then blasted him and argued every point. Her emails in response to suggested revisions were terse. Aurora Kane had the people skills of a pit bull, at least with him.

  According to Jenny Wright, the head editor, she was always the soul of politeness with her on the phone.

  So Donovan had decided to do a little research into Miss Aurora Kane, erotic romance author extraordinaire. She had been their top producer and the top seller but her last few books had lost the sexy… the spark of passion that made them special. After a little research he’d found her online blog, separate from the promotional one she used for her books.

  This one was more of an online journal. Though her books were BDSM-themed, Donovan hadn’t assumed she was truly a submissive; lots of writers in the genre weren’t into the lifestyle. But the journal he was reading belonged to a natural submissive… an angry bitter submissive… one who had obviously been hurt and was trying to deny her nature, but a submissive just the same.

  The journal post was almost four years old but it still explained what was happening with her writing. Denying that part of herself was starting to affect her ability to describe sex scenes with any depth. She was so divorced from her own sexuality she didn’t see that the scenes lacked connection and
passion.

  He’d read each and every journal entry… all of them had been written with a dispassionate air but he could read between the lines.

  She believed she’d succeeded in eradicating her inner submissive but she’d only managed to make her go quiet. She was far too angry to have found any real peace; Ms. Kane was fooling herself to think differently and soon it would bite her in the ass. She wasn’t going to be able continue denying such an intrinsic part of herself indefinitely without serious repercussions.

  Donovan smiled grimly; it was time for them to meet face to face. The last time they’d spoken on the phone, Aurora had been her terse, argumentative self; actually she’d been a brat badly in need of a spanking. The dominant in him had reacted to just her voice on a visceral level. From everything he’d been told she was a reclusive writer who barely left her house. Her journal entries backed that up; she was hiding from the world in an effort to keep herself safe from further hurt.

  It was time to drag Miss Aurora Kane kicking and screaming back to the land of the living and Donovan had a hunch he was just the dom to do it. Something about the woman pulled at him… as a dominant he was unable to leave a submissive in that kind of pain without intervention; as her editor he needed to fix the problem; as a man he found she was a puzzle he needed to solve and he was drawn to her more than he had been to any woman in a long time.

  Chapter Two

  Aurora frowned as she read the email from Mr. Donovan Tate, editor-that-would-be-king. Well, he wasn’t her king! Glaring at the screen, she reread the message: “Since you are unable to meet at the office, I will come to you. How is Friday at three p.m.?”

  Come to her house? Not bloody likely! Who did he think he was? The phone on her desk next to the computer jangled loudly, splitting the silence in the room and she stared at it suspiciously as it continued to ring loudly.

  She didn’t get phone calls; she did her best to be discouraging to prevent recurring phone calls. Finally it silenced and she breathed a sigh of relief. Then to her chagrin it began immediately ringing again.

  With a growl she grabbed the phone and answered with a gruff, “Yes?”

  “Hello, Aurora. Sounds as if I caught you in a pleasant mood.” The deep cultured tones flowed through the lines like a robust scotch laced with highland honey washing over her. It was a voice she could get used to, which made it necessary to get this man off her phone immediately.

  “I wouldn’t say that. Who is this and what do you want?” Aurora asked in the surliest tone she could muster.

  “I’m Donovan Tate with Cockney Press, your editor. I hadn’t heard back from you and thought I would cement our appointment over the phone,” he said smoothly.

  “I’m not available for face-to-face meetings, Mr. Tate,” she said in a clipped tone.

  “You most certainly are, young lady. I’ll be there Friday at three to discuss your edits and a few other things with you,” he said in a firm, no-nonsense tone.

  “How dare you!” Aurora practically yelled.

  “You’ll find that I dare quite a lot. As far as not taking face-to-face meetings… I suggest you read your contract. Your previous editor might have given you some leeway but I will not. The contract will be followed until its expiration. I’ll see you Friday.” Then the audacious man had the nerve to hang up before further argument could be offered.

  She stared at the phone for a moment, shocked he’d spoken to her in such a way, then pulled up the file in her saved documents that held her most recent contract. Thirty minutes later after actually reading the entire contract, something she’d failed to do previously, she’d found there actually was a clause committing her to make herself available for face-to-face editorial meetings as necessary.

  The asshat had her over a barrel, but if he thought she’d be a gracious host he had another think coming. She was actually shaking as she walked to the bathroom to splash some cold water on her heated face; he’d made her angry, that was all.

  He’d show up on Friday and be treated to such a display of poor behavior he’d be glad to wash his hands of her and give her back to Jenny or another editor willing to allow her little idiosyncrasies.

  * * *

  Friday rolled around and Aurora didn’t even bother to dress; why should she? It wasn’t like the person coming to invade her home had been invited. She wore her rattiest pajama bottoms and a holey t-shirt reading “If I threw a stick, would you go away?”

  Her un-brushed hair was piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun secured loosely with a couple of chopsticks. No makeup adorned her features; the only concession she made to company was washing her face and brushing her teeth.

  This was how she dressed when she wrote. If he didn’t like it he could lump it.

  The doorbell rang promptly at three p.m. and Aurora swung the door open and glared up at the man filling it. The natural dominance and power radiating from his large body gave her a moment of pause and she stepped back before she could stop herself.

  She turned away to hide her discomfort and walked toward the living room without a word. He’d think she was rude rather than nonplused by his intimidating form and rather unconventional handsomeness. She would have liked to say she hadn’t noticed the strong square cut of his jaw already shadowed with new beard growth, or the long nose centered beneath piercing green eyes. If his dark good looks stirred anything in her girly bits, she suppressed it ruthlessly.

  By the time Aurora walked into her living room with him close on her heels, she was over his initial impression and she spun to face him with her hands on her hips. “What was so important you felt the need to invade my home?”

  The man had the nerve to smile, obviously amused by her attitude. “It really has been a long time since someone took you in hand, hasn’t it?”

  Aurora gasped. “You have a lot of nerve to speak to me like that!”

  The man leaned down and stared her straight in the eye. The no-nonsense look on his face stirred something in the pit of her stomach she had long thought dead. “It’s best we get something straight right now, young lady. You’re not in charge. You have final say when it comes to your books, though you will listen to reason when I’m giving you sound advice. However, when it comes to the relationship between you and me, little girl, I call the shots. People have kowtowed to your little quirks long enough in my opinion and I won’t put up with any of your shenanigans. Now be a good little author and go change into something more presentable.”

  “I… you… how… I…” She gaped at him, trying to form a coherent thought as her face grew flushed. He made her so angry but also a little niggle of fear crept into the back of her mind. She needed this man, this dominant out of her house pretty damn quick.

  “Now, Aurora,” he said, his voice deepening with command.

  Aurora saw red, and before she could think her actions through, her hand was arcing through the air and she slapped him hard across his face. She immediately felt her face pale as she realized how foolish the slap had been but she couldn’t allow herself to back down even though self-preservation demanded she get out of Dodge as fast as she could. Instead she straightened to her full height and stomped his foot for good measure. “Get out!”

  She hoped he attributed the way her knees were knocking together as righteous anger and did not see beneath her bravado to the fear that she’d bitten off more than she could chew by tweaking this particular tiger’s tail.

  “I see we need to begin your lessons immediately,” he said with a rakish grin.

  Aurora backed away from him, unable to stop herself. To her dismay, Donovan took a step forward with every one she took back, effectively stalking her around the room. She desperately wanted to run but she knew if she gave in to him that completely, the battle would be lost before it was begun.

  “Come here, Aurora,” Donovan said firmly as he continued to follow her every step, effectively herding her toward a corner and barring further retreat.

  “I will not! Do I h
ave the word stupid stamped on my forehead?” she asked smartly, as she realized there was nowhere to go. She straightened her spine and glared up at him, pointing her finger at him. “Back off, Mr. Tate!”

  “You’d be disappointed if I backed off, little girl,” he told her with a knowing grin that enraged her.

  “You’re seriously deluded!” Aurora said scathingly.

  Donovan smirked. “You want to feel my hand on your ass so badly your body is quivering. In fact I’d bet money you are dripping wet, your body aching for my dominance.”

  She gasped, shocked by his words, but worse was the little pulse beating in her panties as slick heat surrounded her clit giving truth to his words. Angry tears threatened to fall and she moved to slap him again.

  “Temper, temper,” he said before catching her firmly by the arm as she made to swing again and let her own forward motion and the slight tug on her arm send her tumbling over his lap as he sat on her sofa.

  She started, finding herself over his lap and glanced over her shoulder with alarm. “You can’t spank me!”

  Donovan clamped an arm over the small of her back and jerked her sleep pants to her knees, baring a lily white bottom. “Oh, but I can, love, and if you ask me this is long overdue.”

  Aurora immediately began bucking over his knee, screaming over her shoulder at him, “You bastard! Let me go right now! You have no right to do this to me!”

  She continued to kick and yell at him, knowing this had to stop, she’d worked so hard not to crave this feeling… Aurora had to fight the need to submit to his dominance; that secret part of her she’d thought buried ached so badly it almost made her want to relax her body and take everything he gave her.

  In a panic she screamed at him and called him everything but legitimate in a violent effort to suppress her need.