Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  The advice was as endless as the things I had to monitor. But I’d managed, somehow, to cut through the advice and pick out what I thought worked best for our son. I had gotten the hang of parenting by the time Josh was two. Then I’d decided I wanted another child. I’d read that more than three years between siblings caused riffs in sibling relationships.

  Jett was down for another kid, so we put Josh in his own bed, as he’d been sleeping with us, and we got busy producing another offspring. In that three-month period of so much love making, Jett and I reconnected.

  It was fantastic!

  I had gotten pregnant, and all through the pregnancy, we’d fucked like rabbits, delighting in the fact that we had effectively gotten Josh into his own routine and bedroom and were free to explore our love once more.

  Jasmine came, and we’d waited out the six-week period of no sex like a couple of dogs in heat who had been chained up from each other. The day the six weeks was up, Jet had gotten Josh to sleep. I had gotten Jasmine to sleep and put her in her baby bed in her own bedroom, gotten the baby monitor, and taken it to our bedroom to wait.

  When he’d come in, we’d virtually exploded around each other. It was hot, it was electric, and it wasn’t going to stop. We couldn’t get enough of each other. We’d done the same thing each night—put the kids to bed. then met in our room where it was back to fucking like rabbits.

  It was awesome!

  Until I found myself pregnant again. And our baby girl was only six-months-old. I’d lost that special time with her, and I’d lose my special time with the new baby. It was terrible timing.

  And with that pregnancy, the sexual heat that Jett and I had begun to lose points on the thermometer. The urges simply vanished. We found ourselves letting the kids sleep with us. Then Jake came along and there were five of us in the bed.

  Sex wasn’t even thought about. It would come as an afterthought once a week, or even less than that. Jett and I got along fine. We were good to one another and parented as a team.

  Well, mostly as a team. Jett and I argued some over leaving the kids with our parents now and then. I was against it. I already felt guilty about Jasmine and Jake and how we had never gotten to develop that special bond with them that we’d had with Josh. I wasn’t about to start shipping them all off to the grandparents.

  So I was stuck. I didn’t want to work because that would take away from the kids. I didn’t want to go out alone with Jett because that would also take away from the kids. So life revolved around home and my family.

  Only Jett pointed out the day of Jake’s third birthday that life wasn’t revolving around the family, to which I wholeheartedly disagreed. He pointed out that my life was only revolving around the kids. Our marriage was left out of that. He was left out of that. And he took responsibility for his part in that too.

  As the husband, it was up to him to monitor the mommy situation at all times and direct me accordingly. He’d let the sex go. He’d let the affection go. He’d let it all go because it was easier to be lenient than it was to take the hard road and make me be his wife too—not just the kid’s mother.

  And he was right. I could see that.

  I loved my husband. I didn’t want him to feel left out of anything. But what was I supposed to do about it?

  I also loved my kids, and I wanted them to know that without any doubts at all. I wanted them to know they were my world.

  Jett pointed out that I was his world as much as the kids were. And he was supposed to have the top spot in my world, just as I was supposed to have the top spot in his. We’d both fallen away from our core beliefs, and he took the responsibility upon himself to fix it for us all.

  I was thankful for that, because even though he’d pointed out things that I agreed with, I was still one hell of a busy mom.

  Things still had to be monitored—pee, naps, meals. But things were added as they got older. Josh had to be monitored on what he was looking at on his little laptop that he was only supposed to be playing learning games on.

  All too often we’d find him playing violent games that were far above his age level. He’d tell us he was training for when he would become a marine and that we shouldn’t stop him. He needed to get used to seeing blood, guts, and assorted body parts. It would be his job someday.

  Who were we to get in the way of the next great American War Hero?

  Jasmine had to be monitored about the crayons. Our little girl was a budding artist, and when she ran out of paper, the walls became her canvas. Oh, how proud she was of her grand murals. That made it hard as hell to discipline her about coloring on the walls.

  Jasmine would enter the room and take a bow. “Please, family, join me in the hallway where I shall show you my latest creation.”

  Jett and I would sigh as we looked at each other. Neither of us had a clue how to discourage her from drawing on the walls while encouraging her on her art.

  She was fantastic, after all. No one could make little squiggly marks like our precious daughter. In the end, we repainted often and blamed the maintenance man when she found her masterpieces had vanished into thin air. And we got her an easel to help combat her addiction.

  Then there was Jake. Boy, that kid was into everything. I’d lose him so often after he began to crawl that we had to sew jingle bells into his clothes so we could track him down.

  We were certain that he’d become the world champion at hide-and-go-seek.

  With all the kids and all that went with them, my time was used up. Thinking about anything other than what they were up to and if their bodies were in proper working order was more than I could do.

  Sex with my husband didn’t even enter my mind. There just wasn’t time for that. And he wasn’t as busy as I was, so he ended up missing sex more than I did.

  When Jett came to me, making me take the time to talk to him while our parents looked after the kids after the festivities of Jake’s birthday, I was grateful.

  He could’ve skirted around behind my back to get what he needed. Instead, he took the mother bear I was head-on. He let me know he was taking his wife back. However it had to happen, he wanted me back and he’d get me back.

  I could still be a great mother, but he wanted me back. So he devised a plan where we’d spend a week in Oregon with other couples who liked to live the way we did. We’d explore our sexuality once more and learn some tricks of the trade from the other couples.

  That might sound like a lot of fun to some. A BDSM retreat, if you will.

  To me, it sounded merely okay. And the thought of leaving my kids for an entire week was like sliding bamboo shoots underneath my fingernails. I fought him as hard and long as I could about going.

  I kept telling him to start out with one overnighter, then we’d go to two and move on from there. Jett wasn’t hearing it. He said I needed a clean break so I could come home and know, without a doubt, that I was his wife first and their mother second.

  He and I were the heads of the household and our needs had to be met too. Without a strong union at the top, our troops would descend into chaos. And we had three teens to think about in our future. We needed to build the pyramid of power now.

  No more waiting.

  But it wasn’t easy, and I wasn’t happy about going back to do what the others thought would be best for me.

  Jett

  The light was still on in our cabin. I had a feeling our friends wouldn’t give up and leave. The women of our small group had come up with the idea when they’d seen how introverted Asia had become.

  Though none of them had known her prior, they listened when I described the pre-children Asia. All of them had kids, so they understood.

  I didn’t see a thing wrong with what they’d come up with. When Asia had taken off out the door, it had taken me by surprise.

  She and I had participated in several things with the other couples. We’d watched some scenes and some impact training that she was really excited about trying. We’d even taken part in a power bu
ilding session, where all the couples had sex in the same room at the same time. She’d taken part in that without running away.

  So why would she run from something like this?

  As I approached the front door, I gave her ass a smack and placed her back on her feet. I was sure to keep her between me and the door so she couldn’t get away from me.

  I took her by the chin to make her look at me. “Asia, I want you to go in there and have a good time. I don’t want any more of this shy crap. We fucked in front of these people, for the love of Pete. How could this be embarrassing to you when that wasn’t?”

  “I wasn’t alone.” She jutted out her jaw and crossed her arms.

  “What?” I was confused.

  “They want me to get in front of everyone, all alone. I don’t want to do it. Isn’t that enough for you? I don’t want to do it all alone.” She blinked rapidly as if she was about to cry.

  I pulled her into my arms and rocked her. “Baby, my God, what’s happened to you?” I kissed the top of her head and looked down at her. “You’re going to laugh at yourself later when you look back at this.”

  “Do you really think so?” She shook her head. “I’m scared to death, Jett. I am.”

  “Baby, get in there. Take the card they give you. Act out the word and let everyone laugh with you. They’re not going to laugh at you. You’ll be having fun in no time. Being invisible isn’t nearly as great as you’re thinking it is. Hiding behind me or the kids is a thing of the past for you. It’s time to step up and be the best you that you can be. Starting with an innocent game of charades.”

  I kissed her, then, and held her tight, knowing she’d get through that week and be one step closer to being back to the strong Asia she’d been before she was called Mom.

  The door opened and she was greeted with hugs from her new friends. Then we went inside to play the game that would help bring my wife back to me.

  The sex all week long had helped with that too. In the end, we got each other back and our marriage remained rock solid. Our kids had ups and downs that we all got through as a family—a family with a mother and a father who loved each other so much, they’d do anything to keep their love strong.

  And we all lived and loved happily ever after.

  The End

  Mallory

  A Billionaire Romance

  By Michelle Love

  When art student Quilla Chen bravely dives into a Venetian canal to rescue a suicidal man, she has no way of knowing the man she has saved is the eldest son of one of America's wealthiest families. But Jakob Mallory has his own dark secrets—an addiction to cocaine which has fueled his epic rise to the top, but now threatens everything as his addiction grows stronger. Their attraction to each other is palpable, and soon, they become lovers.

  Part One: Torment Me

  “Bella, bella, bella!”

  Quilla ignored the calls of the gondoliers as she walked quickly over the bridge. It was dusk, and Venice was readying itself for the nightlife, but at this moment, on this particular bridge, it was quiet. Quilla kept her focus on her destination; she’d had good practice at tuning out the incessant catcalls and whistles that followed her. Even dressed as she was, simple white shirt and cargo pants, the Italian boys would make their appreciation known. It had annoyed her at first—her American sensibilities offended by their objectification—but now she just ignored it.

  Every morning she woke up in this glorious city, Quilla Chen would spend a few seconds in wonderment. Italy … she never thought a working-class girl like her would get here. Oh, she’d worked eighteen hours days to fit in both work and college, ending up with a Fine Arts degree, but when her professor at her alma mater had called and told her she’d won the scholarship to go spend the summer painting in Venice, she could hardly believe it.

  “And when you get back,” he’d said kindly, “we’ll discuss your Ph.D. thesis.”

  Her. Quilla Chen, soon to be Doctor Quilla Chen. “I’ll make you proud, Mom,” she’d said the day she’d found out. The photograph of her mother, five years dead, didn’t make up for the loss, but Quilla had felt happier than in a long time. ‘Do something’ were her mother’s last words to her, and she had. She had done something. At twenty-four, Quilla was looking at a future which had some value, some meaning.

  Now, as she walked towards the north of the city, towards Cannaregio, away from the tourist track, she wondered idly if she could make a life here, in this glorious city. There seemed too much to discover for one summer; she wanted to immerse herself in the culture, the language, the beauty. Since arriving a week ago, she had already sketched and painted a number of pieces, so inspired had she been. Tonight, her mission was to sketch and photograph dusk falling over St. Dell’isole Michele and Murano from the Ponte de la Sacca de la Misericordia.

  The bridge was quiet when she got there. She settled down on a small stone walkway at the side of the bridge and looked out over the Venetian Lagoon. It had been a typical sweltering day but as the sun began to set, the colors that spread across the sky were heaven. Soon Quilla was so lost in her work that she didn’t even notice the last of the boats coming out from under the bridge and that the streetlamps were turning on.

  It was only when she heard the scrape of shoes that she looked up. A man, tall, wearing a suit, stood at the pinnacle of the bridge, staring down into the water. He was handsome—if a little red-eyed and unshaven—Quilla judged him to be in his early to mid-forties. It was the expression on his face that made her heart twist with sadness. Hopelessness, utter, complete hopelessness … she drew herself back into the shadow of the bridge, not wanting to intrude on the man’s privacy, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. As she watched, he slowly, carefully, took his jacket off and laid it carefully on the bridge. With mounting horror, she saw him lay his wallet and phone on top and then his shoes. Oh, God no … before she could scream out, he leapt in one movement, plunging into the murky depths of the water.

  Quilla reacted in a flash. Wrenching off her sneakers and shirt, she dived into the water. Opening her eyes, she could see nothing in the dark waters of the lagoon; instead, she stretched out her arms, searching. She knew it was probably hopeless, but something in the man’s face made her want to find him, want to save him. She broke the surface to suck in some air, then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. Without thinking, she made a grab at it and felt an arm. She pulled on it and the man broke the surface, too, spluttering, cursing—in English. An American.

  “No, you freaking don’t,” Quilla gasped, as he struggled to free himself, and using all of her strength, she hauled him to the side of the canal. He was a big man, so all she could do was pin him to the side of the canal and hope someone would come help them both out.

  “Let me go,” he murmured, his voice breaking and cracking.

  “No, never ...” Quilla had no idea why she said that with so much feeling, but her whole world was now about saving this man. She yelled out, hoping one of the people in the houses at the edges of the canal would hear her. A minute or two passed and then there were two young men scrambling to help. “Get him out first,” she ordered them, and though they looked unhappy, they did as she said, dumping the crumpled American to the stone walkway and lifting her out.

  “Thank you,” she gasped, “Thank you.”

  They asked her, in broken English, if she was okay—did she want them to call for an ambulance? Quilla, panting hard, looked down questioningly at the American, who shook his head.

  “No, please, no ambulance, no police, no press.”

  No … press? Who was this guy? Quilla put her shirt back on her damp body—clearly to the disappointment of the two boys. She shook her head, laughing. “Look, can you watch him for a sec while I grab his stuff from up there? Might tell me who he is and where we can take him.”

  She climbed up onto the bridge and grabbed his jacket and personal items. She bent down to wrap his jacket around him and for the first time, he looked a
t her properly. Their eyes locked and Quilla felt something shift in her soul. He slowly lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, stroking the soft apple of it so tenderly, she thought she might cry, looking at her as if he couldn’t believe she was there.

  “Okay,” she said, embarrassment making her cheeks flame. “Let’s see who you are … Jakob? Jakob Mallory?”

  “Yes, I ...” He gave a big sigh and she was struck again about how hopeless he looked. “For what it’s worth, I’m Jakob Mallory.”

  “Jakob, do you have somewhere you’re staying?”

  He shook his head. “I flew in this afternoon. I wasn’t planning on a vacation.” He gave her a wry smile then, the first sign of his personality, and she found herself smiling back.

  “Well, then … can you walk? You can stay on my couch tonight, and then we’ll get you a room tomorrow.”

  He was still staring at her and for a moment she wasn’t sure he had heard what she said.

  “Okay.”

  It wasn’t until they were walking back into the city that she realized what she was doing. She’d just saved this dude’s life …and what, now she was taking him back to her apartment? You are insane. But her gut told her that he was no danger, and jeez, she felt a responsibility for him. Besides, she was pretty damn good at martial arts and if he tried anything …

  “What’s your name?”

  She smiled. “Quilla. Quilla Chen.”

  “Quilla. Unusual.”

  She said nothing, used to the reaction. They walked a little in silence for a little way, then he put a hand on her arm and stopped her.

  “I can find a hotel … it’s okay.”

  She looked up at him. His eyes were the same deep hazel as her own, his close-cropped hair a few shades lighter. He towered over her and was a pretty impressive physical specimen, she had to admit, but it was the look in his eyes that still spoke to her. Loneliness. Despair.

  “I don’t think you should be alone, tonight,” she said simply, and Jakob smiled softly.

  “You might be right.”