“There’s a lot more I could do for you,” he says, standing to walk behind my chair and feather a few kisses up my neck.
I try to make a quip about this. “Two redheads shouldn’t sleep together. The results could be catastrophic.” His tiny kisses make me shiver.
Just at that moment, my boys decide to run into the kitchen. Preston, my youngest, holds a paper in his hand and his eyes are wide. “Mom, can I please sign up for hockey this year?”
I don’t know what to say to that sweet, freckled face. His brown, puppy-like eyes beseech, but we simply can’t afford it. Not ready to break his heart, I say, “We’ll see, hon.”
He prunes his face and makes a minor protest, but Jake distracts them both with the proposition of some two on one road hockey, out in the dirt alley that runs between our place and Mrs. Granger’s. I’m thankful for the time this gives me to think.
And that’s when I see it. An ad in the employment opportunities section catches my attention. I already work on an assembly line building slot machines for a living, but that wage barely covers the bills. It sure won’t fix the roof and the other repairs this old home needs, and it won’t cover hockey fees for Preston either.
But the job notice I stare at, the amount indicated, certainly would. So long as the hours don’t conflict with my other work, I could take this, should I get it, and finally get this house spruced up, give my kids some money for recreational activities that they’ve been dying to join.
The notice says: Woman between 20 - 35 needed to test innovative new designer products. Must have an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. Apply in person with resume at Suite 001-353 Bloominfield Blvd.
And the monthly income it cites makes my eyes widen. I can do this, I think. I’ve got an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex. For the income offered, I’ll dance naked on tabletops at this point.
But when I show the ad to Jake after I join him and the boys outside, he gently takes my arm, gives me a concerned expression, and ushers me to the side of the house.
“Are you crazy, Carrie?” He looks angry as well as concerned. “This could be a setup. You could get raped or killed.”
I shake my head at his protest, cross my arms over the front of my spring cardigan. “I’ll be fine.” When he frowns deeper, I put an arm around his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze. Close to his ear, I whisper, “I’ll take protection with me, and I’ll text you as soon as I get to the place and once I meet the interviewer to let you know I’m safe. How’s that?” I’m registered to carry a handgun, and I’m a very good shot, too. Years of target practice with my dad, now also passed on, gave me an eagle eye and aim.
“You should let me come with you,” Jake says, still wearing that deep frown that barely crinkles his smooth, pale face.
“Someone has to take care of the kids,” I protest, feeling a bit guilty for asking his to be a last minute babysitter yet again. “I’ll pay you.”
He shakes his head at me, then a smile spreads, bringing out his adorable dimples. “You don’t have to pay me for watching the kids. Don’t even think about it.” Then he wraps his arm tighter around my shoulder, swipes a quick kiss over my lips before saying, “Please be careful.”
I swat at him playfully. “Don’t mother me, for cripes sake. I’ll be fine.” Then I quickly give him another kiss before adding, “Thanks for watching the kids again.”
***
A few days later, I’m up way before the kids and Jake, showered, and dressed before they even stomp down the stairs for breakfast. Jake protests, saying I should’ve let him help me with the bacon and eggs. I wave him off to ask if I look presentable for my upcoming interview.
His green eyes shine. “You look beautiful.”
The kids make silly noises at this, and Michael asks when me and Jake are getting married, with a cheeky grin spread across his face. I tell him to eat his bacon and mind his business. He just laughs. He gets his precocious streak from me, I admit. His brother just grins a lopsided grin and chows down on his eggs.
Now sitting in my beat up old Pontiac Sunfire, I take a last minute to inspect myself before I drive off. I’m wearing my best dress--one of my only dresses, now I’m on a tight budget. A spring knee-length number in pink with tiny white polka dots spotting the thin material. I’ve put on my Aunt Peg’s pearls for good luck and pinned up my fiery red hair in a neat, simple chignon. Applied a bit of makeup to my cheeks, a wisp of shadow to enhance my blue eyes, and a tint of pink lip gloss to my lips. I frown at my reflection, worried that I look more like June Cleaver than someone with an open mind and a healthy attitude toward sex.
“Oh well.” I tell my worrisome self. “It’ll have to do.”
***
The building at 353 Bloominfield Blvd used to be an old brownstone, but it’s been recently converted into office space. I approach a man with a pleasant smile and a bulldog face to ask him where exactly Suite 001 is. But first I send Jake a text to let him know all looks good so far.
His face blanches and he raises an eyebrow. “Why does a respectable looking lady like you want Suite 001?”
I play with my pearls and almost consider telling him I’ve made a mistake. I contemplate this and leaving, but the dollar amount in the ad flashes in my mind again. “I’m here about the job advertised.” I point to the classified I’ve circled with yellow highlighter.
His bushy eyebrows climb higher. He clears his throat and straightens his navy blue uniform coat. “Lady, that job is not for you.”
Now I’m getting just a little miffed. No one tells Carrie Brannigan what to do. And when someone tells me no, I just get all the more determined. “I think I’ll be the judge of that, thank you. Now, if you don’t mind?”
With a disapproving scowl, he directs me to an elevator with ugly orange doors. Someone really needs to paint that, I think.
“Basement,” the security guard says, and as the doors close he adds, “Good luck. You’re gonna need it.”
“Not exactly a confidence booster,” I mumble to myself before I hit the button indicating lower levels.
When the elevator slides open, I find myself in a drab, narrow grey hallway lined with white doors with gold numbers and keycard slots on each one. I locate Suite 001 and ring a doorbell situated near the keycard slot. A brief moment passes before someone swings it open.
The man standing before me has an aura of danger and mystery that instantly puts me on guard. “Hello,” he says, letting his thick, pouty lips curl in a sensuous smile full of lecherous intent. I detect a slight British accent. Then he steps back from the threshold, still not inviting me in as he gives me a bold up and down perusal while stroking his trimmed goatee. “Yes… as long as you’re not as good a girl as you look, I think you’ll do quite nicely. Come in.”
He takes my hand and I feel an instant spark. I study his face briefly as he leads me into the room. His eyes are ice blue, like slivers cut from a glacier, and set wide apart, which gives him a deceptively innocent look. His nose is wide at the nostrils, tapered as it moves toward the bridge, and his cheekbones are not too defined but still prominent. He reminds me of a man found in paintings of old world nobility. He’s slender and not much taller than my 5 ft. 6. With my curves and heavy breasts, I feel fat next to his proud figure with spiked hair that isn’t quite sure if it’s meant to be brown or golden blond.
The retort I had ready dies in the back of my throat when I glance around the room I’ve entered. Stainless steel tables are strategically placed close to stark, black leather couches and chairs. And on these stainless steel tables are dildos and assorted sex toys like I’ve never seen. At least, I think they’re sex toys. In my marriage to Colby, the boys’ father, we experimented--I even proposed an open relationship when I found he’d cheated on me for a third time--but our tastes had been fairly vanilla compared to the assortment I gaze at now, mouth hanging wide open.
He gestures for me to sit in a chair opposite a plain, wooden desk. “As you
can guess, I’m not big on subtly,” he jokes, indicating the toys on display. “But I believe in giving full disclosure to all applicants as soon as they walk in.”
With a slightly shaking hand, I give him my resume. “Exactly what position am I applying for?”
Giving a vulpine grin, he ignores my question at first and extends a hand. When I take it, he brushes those soft lips just below my knuckles before he introduces himself. “Luke Wesley, but my good friends call me Dom Luke.” He used my hand to tug me closer to the desk. “And you’re applying, my dear, to test out designer sex toys.”
At this point, I’m sure I’ve given him my deer in the headlights stare.
***
Surrender Series Volume 2: Surrender Ever After
Surrender Ever After, the complete Surrender Series Volume 2, by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer includes all four stories of Carrie Brannigan’s experience as Dom Luke Wesley’s mistress, sex toy employee, and lover. She is torn between him and down to earth carpenter, Jake Black, who also comes to work for the eccentric British dom, and to be seduced by him. Within the halls of Surrender Sanctuary can this trio fall in love, or will hot tempers and guarded hearts force them to separate?
Surrender To His Proposal (Surrender Series Part 1) by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer
Carrie Brannigan is a single mom raising two boys after her husband suddenly leaves her right after her mother’s funeral. Money is scarce, and if she wants to fix her house and put her son Preston in hockey, she’s going to need a second job. A strange advertisement in the paper offers her just such an opportunity, but how will her best friend Jake Black, a carpenter she rents her garage apartment to, feel about her taking a job testing sex toys for an eccentric dom who also designs said pleasure devices?
Surrender To His Wants (Surrender Series Part 2) by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer
In Part 2 of this series, Jake is hired by Dom Luke Wesley also, and things heat up to scorching when he and Carrie must test out pleasure devices along with the enigmatic dom.
Surrender To His Lust (Surrender Series Part 3) by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer
In Part 3 of the series, Jake storms out of the house and Carrie must perform at Dom Luke’s sex club without him. Dom Luke takes her inside the Pleasure Dome, a sphere that delivers ecstasy in many ways. Then Jake shows up at the club to challenge Luke, and things get hot between the trio on the club’s dance floor. Plus a new nanny threatens to break apart the bond building between the three.
Surrender To His Love (Surrender Series Part 4 - Finale) by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer
In Part 4 of the series, Jake is caught in bed with the nanny, who he moves in with, but he returns to perform with Carrie and Dom Luke for the major shareholders of Surrender at the exclusive Sanctuary resort. Can the dom bring his two lovers back together, or will the three part ways after their play is done?
Surrender Ever After (The Complete Surrender Series Volume 2)
Surrender Ever After, the complete Surrender Series Volume 2, by Anita Lawless & Roxxy Meyer includes all four stories of Carrie Brannigan’s experience as Dom Luke Wesley’s mistress, sex toy employee, and lover. She is torn between him and down to earth carpenter, Jake Black, who also comes to work for the eccentric British dom, and to be seduced by him. Within the halls of Surrender Sanctuary can this trio fall in love, or will hot tempers and guarded hearts force them to separate?
The bonus story shows the characters ten years later, at the wedding of one of Carrie’s sons.
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Surrender To His Command by Leigh Foxlee.
Surrender To His Command
(Surrender Series Volume 3)
By Leigh Foxlee
“So your friend owns this place?” My eyes grow wide as I follow him and take everything in.
“Yup. It’s a part of the Surrender Inc. franchise. Ever heard of it?” He opens a door made of dark walnut and stands aside so I can enter.
“No.” I take a cautious step over the threshold. “What’s Surrender Inc.?”
My arms brushes over his chest as I walk by and I feel the fine dusting of hair on his chiseled pecs tickle my skin. My face heats and my body feels electric, but I hope I don’t show the effect he has on me. He’s shirtless today, clad in only a pair of tight fitted leather pants. I try not to stare at his chest too much either.
He stops me with a hand snaked around my shoulder. “It’s a sex club and resort franchise. My buddy only owns the one club, but he knows some of the major shareholders. The richest of rich come to play at the main resort, Sanctuary. Or so I’m told. I’ve never been there.”
I simply nod and swallow hard as my gaze takes in the playroom and its contents.
I don’t know a ton about BDSM, but I know enough from the erotic romance I’ve read, and some of Jeanie’s dirty magazines, to know a spanking bench when I see one. There’s also a rack that reminds me of medieval torture devices. A cross with shackles for wrists and ankles. And stocks. Glass cases line the walls and these are filled with whips, collars, handcuffs. He explains more about the room’s contents as he leads me around.
“Pick your pleasure,” he says, stopping in front of me.
The heat from his body makes the tiny hairs on mine stand on end. I try to breathe normally, act cool. This is just practice after all. Not the real thing.
Still, I stall for time. “Why do you need to practice anyway? How can someone be a failure dominant?” I regret the last sentence the moment it leaves my lips.
He glares at me, purses his lips, then his face becomes an aloof mask, but I can still sense the anger simmering under the surface. “Some of my clients feel I’ve been too soft on them. I need to learn not to hold back. To respond to my submissive’s wants and needs by observing their cues and better communication. Failure is not an option.”
He sounds like Arnold Schwarnehager in a bad sci-fi movie, but I don’t tell him that. I have the good sense to bite my tongue this time. However, I can’t help but ask, “What happens if you do fail?”
He looks annoyed, but he holds the mask of aloof calm, control. “Then I’m out a job, or I go back to tending bar at this place. And this job pays better than the bar tending. So you’re helping me as much as I’m helping you. See?”
The arm around my shoulder slides to my waist, raising tiny goose pimples down my back as it does. I suck air between my teeth.
“Who’s paying my salary then?” I’m curious, but I also still don’t quite trust him.
He can tell, and little wrinkles form at the bridge of his nose as his frown deepens. “My buddy. He’s investing in me. Let’s put it that way. Let’s get started.”
I cast him a dubious look, but his stony face says more questions are not welcome. His elusive buddy makes me suspicious, but I decide if payment is late or anything goes wrong, I’m out of here and out of this job faster than you can say chocolate and peanut butter. I have the weekend off from both my other jobs--wonder of wonders--but I haven’t given my notice yet, just in case things don’t work out. Like I said, never trust a bad boy.
He crosses his nicely defined arms over his chest. “Have you decided?” Pins me with an intimidating stare.
My decision is based on my last assignment for my historical law class. I point to the stocks, hoping they’ll be the least harmful and compromising instrument of torture.
He nods and, taking my hand, leads me to it.
My heart does a double-time beat in my ears. “What am I suppose to do as your practice sub?”
He opens up the polished, pine stocks and gestured for me to get in. “I’m going to read your response and ask you how it feels. What you like and don’t like. What you want more of and what you don’t. We’ll have safe words you can use should you become uncomfortable with anything. Remember the ones I included in the contract?”
Vaguely, I do. We go over them again as I gingerly place my head in the cool bevel at the center of the wood then
drape my wrists within the smaller notches. The stocks lower over my neck and I try not to panic as the hinges give a tiny squeak and he snicks the lock shut.
Breathe deep. In and out. Relax, I tell myself.
“And now you’re going to … spank me?” I hate how meek I sound, but I admit the feeling of vulnerability that rushes over me at being bound this way is oddly enjoyable.
He crouches in front of me, takes my chin in his hand, grins as he gazes into my eyes. “You bet I am.”
“So what’re you taking in college?” he asks as he walks toward a wall full of glass cases.
“Law,” I simply say, not trusting my voice to get out much else.
He turns back to me, holding a paddle that reminds me of ping pong games played with my sister. “A lawyer, huh? I might have to spank you twice as hard.”
My cheeks flush with heat at his threat. “Haha. Like I haven’t heard a hundred or more lawyer jokes by now.”
He just gives a sexy grin as he shows me the paddle and then walks behind me. Every click of his boots makes my stomach tighten and my mouth a little drier.
Through my jeans, I feel the surface of the paddle skim over my butt. First one cheek and then he slides it across the other. My stomach grows tighter still and that traitorous thing between my legs tingles with more heat. I bite my bottom lip then clench and unclench my hands.
“You ready, sweetie?” His voice is a sexy drawl that makes my nipples stiffen.
“Ready,” I croak, thinking, as I’ll ever be.
The paddle skims up my back, charging my skin with electric energy as it slides across my thin t-shirt. He slips it down over my sides, down my hips. As he does so, one big leg nudges between mine. Our knees touch and then our thighs rub against each other. My sex screams to be touched. My nipples are aching. I bite my lip harder, wondering when the first whack will happen, when--
Smack!
Fifty Shades of Fairy Tales Omnibus Page 24