by Amy Valenti
Tabitha arched against his hand, urging him to touch her.
Marcus captured her sensitive flesh between his fingers, tugging.
Tabitha vibrated with a slow-building orgasm.
Marcus wrapped one arm around her, lifting her to her knees. He slid in with a single motion, and she bucked underneath him.
Tabitha’s head snapped back. “Marcus, I don’t think I can. I’m past my limit.”
“I can prove you wrong.” He lowered the intensity. He held back, stroking deep and slow. He stoked their desire with an unhurried pace, content to let it build.
Time stretched and her focus narrowed. All Tabitha was conscious of was Marcus behind her, filling her, pushing her toward a pinnacle she didn’t know existed. When she reached it, tingling bursts of pleasure flamed through her body. Marcus held her as she shook and followed him into that place where only mindless sensuality dwells.
Hours later, as they lay in bed, replete, Marcus stirred. “Tabitha.”
“Mmm?”
“I have something else I’d like you to wear.”
Tabitha opened one eye. “You do? I told you that labia tag was out, didn’t I?”
“Very funny. I’m being serious.”
Tabitha shook off her sleep. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
“It’s a sort of collar.”
Tabitha gestured toward her silver collar. “I already have a collar.”
“It’s not for the neck.” Marcus extracted a jewelry box from the side drawer. He flipped it open to reveal a beautiful ring, its band made of fine strands of twisted silver that mimicked the collar on her neck.
A desperate hope paralyzed her tongue.
Marcus removed the ring from the box. “Marry me. Be mine in every way.”
Elation bloomed in her chest. “Are you sure?”
“Completely. I want the whole thing, kids, dog, and white picket fence, and I want it with you. You’re perfect for me and I love you.”
Tabitha beamed. “Finally. Isn’t that last bit the most important reason?”
“Yes, and …?”
“I love you, too, Marcus. You give me things I didn’t even know I needed. Nothing would make me happier than to be your wife.”
Marcus slipped the ring onto her finger.
“It’s gorgeous. I love it. I love you.” She leaned in for a kiss.
Marcus took her lips. “You won’t turn into one of those bridezillas, will you?”
Tabitha laughed. “I don’t think so, but if I do, you know just how to handle it.”
Marcus swatted her on the bottom and they rolled into the twisted covers of the bed.
*THE END*
~ * ~ * ~
Did you miss reading about how Marcus and Tabitha met?
Check out His Need, Her Desire (Book 1).
Free at all retailers.
~ * ~ * ~
Want to know what happens next? Her Wish, His Command (Book 3) (see excerpt below) and His Passion, Her Temptation (Book 4) are available now.
~ * ~ * ~
If you enjoyed this story, please leave a review to help guide other readers in their eBook selections.
~ * ~ * ~
Excerpt from Her Wish, His Command
Jonah sipped from his cup. “This coffee is better than usual. What did you do?”
“I washed out the pot and filter?” Anna laughed and threw her braid back over her shoulder. Wasn’t playing with hair supposed to be a flirty thing to do? She glanced into Jonah’s eyes and saw his pupils dilate ever so slightly.
Jonah placed his cup on the counter. “I usually just dump the old coffee.”
Anna reached to top him off, making sure she grazed him again. She turned and put the coffee pot back in its place. Her hip bumped him.
“Anna?” he asked in a deep, questioning tone.
“Yes?” She paused. “Jonah?” She drew his name out on her tongue.
His eyes locked with hers. “What’s this about?”
Anna broke eye contact as his scrutiny became too intense. “What’s what about?”
“This.” He gestured toward her. “Is this about yesterday?”
Anna wasn’t sure where to go with her plan. “Yesterday?” She feared her manner gave the impression of stupid instead of coy.
“Yes, yesterday. We had a moment, for lack of a better term. Is this some game?”
Anna straightened. “Game? What is that supposed to mean?” Her voice lost its teasing edge.
“It means that either you are trying to needle me or maybe … maybe you want something?”
Anna frowned. “Those are the only two explanations?”
Jonah considered for an instant. “Anna, you’re not interested in me, are you?”
Anna thumped her mug on the counter. “Of course not.” Color rose in her face.
“Anna, about yesterday. I didn’t mean to be unprofessional.” His apologetic manner unnerved her.
“You were not unprofessional,” Anna bit out. What a disaster. Was he going to say something kind? Anna didn’t think she could bear the embarrassment.
Jonah took her hand lightly in his. Her hand trembled, and Anna was sure he felt it. “Are you afraid?” He looked into her eyes. “Or aroused?”
Anna swayed as his calloused thumb stroked her palm. The lab seemed to shrink, the walls gathering close around them.
He tugged on her hand, bringing to his lips. He nipped her fingertip.
Anna struggled to remain impassive as her blood surged. She sensed she hadn’t fooled Jonah with her imperfect façade of calm.
A predatory masculine smile crossed his face. “I see.” He sucked her fingertip into his mouth.
Her Wish, His Command is available at all major retailers.
~ * ~ * ~
His Passion, Her Temptation
Granger Pharma executive Monica Granger is hiding her relationship from her family. She has to. Her lover is the son of her father’s biggest business rival. Ben Coron is more than Monica can resist; he’s everything she’s ever wanted - including dominant in bed.
But when Coron Health makes a play for Granger Pharma, Monica’s relationship--and her life--blow wide open. She loses her job, and her family rejects her. Someone’s stealing Granger’s vital trade secrets, and worse, Monica’s brother is dodging attempts on his life.
Their passion is too strong to keep Monica and Ben apart for long. They must thwart the takeover and heal the rift between their families. If they don’t, they’ll never trust one another enough to pursue the dominance and submission they both need.
His Passion, Her Temptation is available at all major retailers.
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Malia Mallory lives in Hawaii with her husband and daughter. She’s been working with words since alphabet blocks rolled into her crib, not only writing her own work but copy editing and proofreading the work of others. She has loved to read about relationships since she first sneaked off with her mother’s Harlequin.
Malia Mallory is the best-selling author of the Dominating BDSM Billionaires series and The ABCs of Erotica series, which covers the erotic spectrum from BDSM to ménage and everything in between. She has also released the Mia’s Cop Craving series and Santa’s Backdoor Baby. Her books are available in electronic format at major eBook retailers.
Connect with Malia on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Goodreads or her blog.
For a free copy of B is for Beach from The ABCs of Erotica, head to her website and sign up for her newsletter.
Connect with Malia Mallory
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/MaliaMallory
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/MaliaMallory
Blog: http://abcsoferotica.wordpress.com/
Web Page: http://www.maliamallory.com
Escape
PJ Adams
Part one: First Encounters
“So how did you feel. Apart from guilty?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
asked Julie, trying not to sound too defensive.
“What was it that made you feel guilty?” Rachel had a way of phrasing and rephrasing questions until she got an answer. Julie would have put that down to Rachel’s professional training as a therapist if it wasn’t the case that her older sister had always been like that.
“What do you think?”
“It’s not my place to think on your behalf, it’s what you think that’s the key.”
“Oh, do stop being the therapist on me, Rache.” Julie raised her glass and took a drink of her Merlot. Billy’s Bar was crowded for a Tuesday evening, which was good for Billy, at least, although it didn’t really make for a quiet chat.
Rachel carried on playing the therapist by letting the silence draw out until it was the kind of gulf that Julie would have to fill with words. Did she even know she was doing it?
“It’s not the obvious,” Julie said eventually. “It’s not that I actually like it when a guy keeps me on my knees for an hour and all I want is to taste the handle of the paddle he’s been spanking me with. It’s not that I like to just walk around the Club and observe what people are doing. None of that makes me feel guilty. I’m comfortable with my sexuality.”
She was probably talking too loud, judging by the looks they were getting from a couple at the next booth and those three guys at the bar, but hey.
“So what is it?”
“It was the first time I’d gone there alone,” said Julie. She’d only come to understand just now that this was the source of her conflicted feelings. Thank you, Dr Rachel.
“Without Nathan.”
Julie nodded. Nathan, AKA That Evil Bastard, had been gone for six weeks now, but the cloud he cast was still clearly visible to Rachel, at least.
“So why should you feel guilty about spending an evening at a BDSM club without the man who walked out of your life nearly two months ago?” Rachel was doing it now, talking just a little too loud. Up at the bar, the guys were nudging each other and laughing.
“Well, when you put it like that...” She hesitated, then went on: “I think a part of me felt that it was just wrong to be there on my own.”
“That you don’t deserve to enjoy yourself?”
“Maybe. And partly it was that it felt so good, even so. For a couple of hours I was free. I’d left the world behind. All the stress. Everything.”
“And that was somehow bad?”
Julie poked her tongue out at her sister. “It felt like I was escaping. Is escapism bad? Is it a slippery slope? I know some people who go there... well, clubs like the Extraordinaire are what they live for. For them, that’s the real world where they can express themselves most completely. All this, the outside world, is just what they have to survive for some of the time.”
“Don’t worry,” said Rachel. “I’ll tell you if I think you’re losing your grip on reality, okay? You’ll be the first to know. So that’s what’s bothering you?”
“It felt bad to be enjoying it without him.”
“He’s gone.”
“I know.”
“Were you worried that he might be there and you’d bump into him?”
Julie shook her head. “No, it wasn’t that. He’s moved away, after all. But... well, I did meet someone.”
§
She hadn’t anticipated the complex rush of feelings when she came to the club for the first time without Nathan. She hadn’t given it much thought at all. She’d found herself heading here even before she realized. It was a Monday night thing: after a day back at work, the Club was a form of escape.
Monday nights at the Extraordinaire had been a regular thing for Julie and Nathan. So even though she hadn’t been for a few weeks, it didn’t seem at all unusual to be getting ready after work; before she knew it she found herself in a cab with her outfit concealed beneath a long faux fur coat, her mask and other accessories tucked into a discreet leather shoulder bag.
It was only then that she started to feel conflicted. Going to the club alone. It had always been a shared thing, a place to slip into different roles, a different aspect of their relationship. She almost asked the driver to turn back, but no. Once she was inside the Club it would be different. Once she was free of coat and bag, herself again, back in the thick of it all again...
She felt as if she’d come home.
She was greeted at the door with rib-crunching hugs by Madame Superior, a six-foot black woman in needle heels and a leather nun’s habit and wimple. When she had disentangled herself, Julie slipped out of her fur and handed it with her bag to one of Madame’s house slaves.
“It’s been a long time,” said Madame, clapping her hands together. “Lookin’ good!”
Julie had put on fishnet stockings, a leather mini-skirt and a tiny leather bustier with a chain-loop front. A black brocade masquerade mask completed the outfit – little more than a hint of anonymity, but enough to give her confidence. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed up, the last time simply the act of dressing up had made her feel this good.
“So what’s it going to be tonight, honey?”
“I’m good. Just going to look around.”
Madame Superior nodded. “You do that, honey. And remember: if you want fixing up with anyone or anything, just come looking for Madame, okay?”
She’d never really done this, just wandered around, taking it all in. Such freedom to explore was a new thing for Julie.
It was odd to be here and feel so unconstrained – literally! Nathan had been strict about what she could and couldn’t do here. That was part of their thing, the control. He loved to show her off, and she loved to be displayed by him, to feel coveted and wanted. When they played out scenes here, it had usually been in one of the dungeon rooms, with Julie chained to the St Andrew’s cross, or in stocks, or just cuffed to a suspension bar: restrained and displayed, like a slave up for auction. With Nathan it had been all about the control.
She’d never known she was like that, until Nathan. For her, being controlled by him had been the first time she had explored that side of her personality.
But now she saw there was so much more...
The Club occupied several levels of this old brownstone building. Everywhere you turned, there was another room, a party, a bar, a scene. Decadent boudoir rooms, a jail room, a padded cell; countless rooms kitted out with whipping benches, racks and other devices of punishment and restraint...
Just walking around... it was such a thrill! She hadn’t realized how much Nathan had shielded her away from.
She paused to watch a couple in the jail room. He was maybe sixtyish, but with a body that had clearly been looked after, the muscles well-honed, the skin tight, hairless, and covered in intertwined tattoos. His arms stretched above him, pulled tight, attached to iron loops in the wall by heavy cuffs. His body was pulled so taut it looked sculptural. He wore only leather-strapped mini-shorts and a matching leather cap that extended down over his eyes.
Julie remembered one time... She had been suspended from those same iron loops, her face hard against the stone wall, while Nathan had paddled her naked ass. Just as then, Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet played in the background.
But now... A skinny blonde woman in a black catsuit pulled back and then swung a thickly-tailed flogger down across the suspended man’s chest. It struck with a flick of the wrist and a sharp snapping sound. The man’s body jerked, and he gasped. The woman said something in a low voice, paused, pulled back, and swung again.
Julie stood against the cell bars, pressing hard against the unyielding metal. Watching, waiting with almost as much anticipation as the man must feel. Another sharp snap, a gasp, a muttered exchange. It was odd... This was such an intimate, private scene with words that could not be heard by anyone but the participants, and yet it was being played out in front of a crowded room.
§
“How did it feel, to be on the outside looking in?”
Rachel and Julie had no secrets. It was incredibly li
berating, and so unlike most sibling relationships.
“I was turned on. It made me think of all the times I’d been on the other side, playing out a scene. You go into the zone: it’s easy to forget you’re being watched. It’s just you and your partner, and the scenario. It’s easy to lose yourself in it.”
“So quite different?”
Julie paused to think, then said, “Yes, I guess it was. More possibilities.”
§
Julie drifted.
She had a drink at the bar and got talking with the couple she and Nathan had labeled Mr and Mrs X – names at Club Extraordinaire were either assumed or unused. They were the sweetest couple, and she could tie him in the most incredible knots. She’d been a resident rigger here for a time – that was how they’d met – and even now she ran classes on how to secure and restrain safely: Tied and Trusted was the tagline on her Facebook page.
She went upstairs to the Glory Wall, just watching again. A row of holes in one wall at waist height, some vacant, others already in use. Penises being anonymously worked through those holes, men and women using handholds and footrests to get themselves into all kinds of positions up against that wall, those holes, those members.
In another room... A guy sprawled face down over a leather bench, a mechanical rotary spanker positioned so that when someone – anyone – cranked the handle it spun, resulting in a rapid-fire volley of slaps from leather paddles across his bare ass.
Dancers. Oh, the dancers! Motown up high, and the dancers in almost every kind of fetish-wear you could imagine. Straps and chains, leather, latex, lace and feathers; tattoos and piercings; stilettos and full-length leather boots; rubber shorts and gimp masks and tape... Twisting and grinding, pressed up close and solo; space opening up around that dancing Dungeon Monitor as she moved, sinuous as a snake.