by Solace Ames
No need for a grand entrance. His name was on the lease, after all. He unlocked the door and walked straight to the bathroom, already shrugging off his T-shirt on the way. A pleasant hissing, bubbling noise came from the kitchen; he smiled and kept walking.
He didn’t exactly feel dirty about what he did, but showering was such a convenient and satisfying ritual. This is what I do, before I touch you. The tart scent from the giant bottle of grapefruit extract shampoo filled the small space as he lathered and scrubbed.
The towel went back onto the rack after he finished drying off. He walked naked to his bedroom—the small one, with the barely used twin bed—then put on a fresh white T-shirt and fresh boxers underneath the barely used jeans he’d driven home in. Purification rituals were important; so was keeping laundry to a minimum.
A rich smell drifted to him underneath the tang of grapefruit, and he followed it to the kitchen, hungry to discover the source.
“I’m making butternut squash ravioli,” Adriana said, looking over her shoulder and smiling at him.
“Well, this is a treat.” She usually didn’t cook at home unless she was experimenting with a new recipe for Wallace’s bistro. And even her failed experiments were delicious. Seeing her in an apron was its own visual treat, the strings tied nicely tight around her waist and accentuating her curves. “From scratch?”
She made an indignant tssking sound.
He walked behind her, played with her apron strings, inhaled deeply. “Of course you are,” he said, looking down at the pan from over her shoulder. Fresh sage leaves sizzled in brown butter. Lacy bra edges peeked out from her camisole. Paul spared a moment of pity for Grant and his unambitious cheeseburger.
He allowed his hands to drift down, outward, tracing her body.
“You smell good, baby,” she whispered, sounding a little breathless.
“Hey! Stop distracting the chef!”
This kitchen didn’t have an open plan, unlike Jay and Adriana’s old apartment. No talking over the counter. Jay had to come up close and personal, which had its advantages. He stood with one hand leaning against the refrigerator, the other hand on his hip, and glared at Paul like an exceptionally elegant owl.
His frown cracked as soon as Paul looked in his eyes, melted when Paul came closer, then eased into a soft smile when Paul gathered him in and stroked his rayon shirt where it draped over the sharp lines of his shoulder blades.
“I’ll stop,” Paul promised. “I’m hungry, too.”
Jay rested his forehead against Paul’s chin. The feeling of Jay leaning against him was unique. A warm and edgy delight. “How was work?”
“There was a stupid prop accident on set. We never finished, but at least I got some schoolwork done. That’s the short version, but I’ll tell you the longer and slightly funnier version at dinner. What about you?”
“Kind of depressing. I’ll tell you later, too.” Jay sighed. Paul felt the regretful breath against his neck, and wished that Jay didn’t have to see hurt every day. But then, that was part of who Jay was, and always would be. “Do you need me to take care of anything?”
“Yes,” Paul said, even though he knew that last question had been directed to Adriana.
“You,” Jay said—accusingly—and touched a hand to Paul’s chest like a promise.
“No,” Adriana answered. “I’m set. I’ll have it all ready in ten minutes. Go relax.”
Jay slipped out of Paul’s arms, darted to the stove and plucked a butter-fried sage leaf. Adriana slapped the back of his hand and tssked again. “I can’t help it, baby,” he said, and kissed her cheek before he crumbled the leaf against his tongue.
And then he came back, his eyes wide and shining, joyful. Back into Paul’s arms.
Again and again. Always returning.
Always.
* * * * *
How long will it take until she’s begging for more?
Check out the first installment of the LA Doms series—available now!
The Dom Project
By day, Robin Lessing has a successful career as a university archivist. By night, she blogs about her less-than-successful search for Mr. Tall, Dark and Dominant. Living up to her handle “The Picky Submissive,” she’s on the verge of giving up and settling for vanilla with a side of fuzzy handcuffs when she discovers her best friend and colleague has a kinky side, too.
Sexy, tattooed techie John Sun is an experienced Dom who never lacks for playmates, male or female. If he can’t satisfy Robin’s cravings, maybe no one can—after all, he knows her better than anyone. So he offers to help her master the art of submission for one month.
Robin eagerly agrees to John’s terms, even the pesky little rule forbidding any friendship-ruining sex. But rules are made to be broken, and once they begin their stimulating sessions, it’s not long before she’s ready to beg him for more—much more...
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About the Author
Solace Ames is a Japanese-American woman with roots in the Southeast U.S., although her heart lives somewhere along the Pacific coast of Mexico. She’s worked in restaurants, strip clubs, academia and the corporate world, and has studied everything from the philosophy of science to queer theory to medieval Spanish literature. Rejecting neat categories, her writing sprawls across genres and genders. Besides writing, education and political activism are her passions. Family takes up most of her time, but she loves to keep learning.
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ISBN-13: 9781426898280
THE SUBMISSION GIFT
Copyright © 2014 by Solace Ames
Edited by Deborah Nemeth
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
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