by Anthology
“What?”
She cleared her throat and repeated herself, “Dance with me, Sir. I want you to hold me.”
Instantly he pulled her naked body against his own, intertwining their limbs and swaying to music only they could hear in their heads. They moved together just as flawlessly in this as they had the first moment he touched her.
“Why are we dancing, princess?” he murmured against the crown of her head.
“Because one dance changed everything.” She responded, tugging his face down and kissing him soundly. His heart soared as he realized that she was agreeing to give them a chance.
When they broke apart, he was grinning like a loon, “You won’t regret it, sub. I swear to you, I’ll make you happy.”
“Mmm…you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to make me happy again. My poor pussy is aching from overuse.” She joked with a pout on her lush lips.
Lex heard himself growl low in his throat, “Maybe we should hit the shower where I can give her a little TLC and kiss the pain away?”
Marley laughed, “Good Lord, you’re like the Energizer Bunny aren’t you?”
“And I don’t even need batteries. You’ll save a fortune, princess.” With that, Lex bent and swept his princess off her feet one more time.
The End
Fetish & Fantasy Series
Watching Sin
Submission Dance
Mistress Hedonism
Masquerade
About Lori King
Best-selling author, Lori King, is also a full-time wife and mother of three boys. Although she rarely has time to just enjoy feminine pursuits; at heart she is a hopeless romantic. She spends her days dreaming up Alpha men, and her nights telling their stories. An admitted TV and book junkie, she can be found relaxing with a steamy story, or binging in an entire season of some show online. She gives her parents all the credit for her unique sense of humor and acceptance of all forms of love. There are no two loves alike, but you can love more than one with your whole heart.
With the motto: Live, Laugh, and Love like today is your only chance, she will continue to write as long as you continue to read. Thank you for taking the time to indulge in a good Happily Ever After with her.
Find out more about her current projects at
@LoriKingBooks
LoriKingBooks
lorikingbooks.com
Yes, Justin (Expanded Edition)
Michele Zurlo
Book Description
After fifteen years and two kids, the romance has fled from Trish’s marriage. When a friend introduces her to BDSM, she decides it’s what she wants—to have her body and soul mastered by a man who is completely focused on her. And that’s not her husband, whose life revolves around his career.
Justin isn’t shocked when he finds out his wife is planning to cheat on him. They’ve been drifting apart for years, and he hates it. To save their marriage, he’ll carry out her kidnap fantasy, fulfill her desire to be dominated, and force her to confront the reasons she wanted to be there in the first place.
1
The light at the base of the leather-clad mannequin remained green, but Justin paused anyway to adjust his grip on the handle of his flogger. He envisioned Trish in its place—her hands bound above her head and her backside streaked pink. She’d moan, a plea for more, and he’d torture her until she surrendered to him.
“You doing okay?” A voice jerked him from the fantasy. Whitney Rice, a good friend of Trish’s from college, frowned and tilted her head.
“Yeah.” He rolled his wrist and hit the practice target again. “Are you sure about this? What if I get mad at her during a scene?”
Whitney didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Then you stop the scene. You untie her, tell her to get dressed, and you talk.”
Talk. It seemed so simple, yet Justin couldn’t remember the last time he and Trish had talked about anything that didn’t concern the kids. They’d lost the closeness they’d shared for nearly a decade before the little ones had come along. Even when inches separated them, it seemed like an insurmountable mountain. She was the stranger in his life who kept his house and mothered his children. He yearned to touch her, but whenever he tried to reach for her, his brain short-circuited, and the message was never sent.
“I’m not pissed at her, not really.”
Whitney set a hand on his wrist, the one he kept flexing. “You’re hurt. You’re angry. It’s natural. She’s hurt and angry too. You know you have to talk to her before you can do anything else?”
He set the deerskin flogger on the table and searched for something with more bite. Elk would do the trick. “Was that the plan with the stranger? He was going to kidnap her, and then he was going to talk to her?”
“There was never a plan with a stranger.” Whitney stepped back to give him space. “Once I figured out she just wanted you, that’s when I said I’d find a Dom to make her fantasy come true.”
That’s when Whitney had come to him. He’d been working late, as always. She’d barged into his office without an appointment and demanded he listen. He’d listened to her detail his wife’s loneliness. Knives had stabbed at his heart, but the sword hadn’t pierced him until Whitney had disclosed that Trish had begged her to find a Dom who would fulfill her fantasies.
“She won’t go through with it,” Whitney assured him, calling his mind back to the present. “Not unless she knows it’s you. She loves you, Justin. She just doesn’t think you’re still in love with her.”
“I tell her,” he said as he got into the rhythm. “Every single day.” He said it as he kissed her cheek on his way out the door.
“Just words,” Whitney said. “They ring hollow when there aren’t actions to back them up.”
“So I’m going to kidnap her, and then I’m going to negotiate with her.”
“Yes.”
“Even though she filled out surveys and checklists for this stranger Dom.” He swung a little harder, hating that Trish felt she needed to look elsewhere for someone to fulfill her sexual needs. At least she’d listed kissing as a hard limit. She wasn’t yet looking for a stranger to connect with her emotionally. The nameless, faceless man she’d described to Whitney had fit him perfectly. He’d been a little surprised that she hadn’t specified that her mystery Dom have an ACL surgery scar on his left knee and a right earlobe that was just a little smaller than the left. She’d discovered that fact one morning many years ago when she’d become fascinated with his reaction to when she raked her teeth along his earlobe.
“Absolutely. She’s new to this, as are you. Limits and preferences change over time and with experience. She may find she hates bondage. You might not like to see her tied up. You never know until it happens.”
Oh, he knew. They’d played around with kinky stuff before, but they’d never formalized it as part of their relationship. He loved the sight of Trish with her wrists bound together. Even thinking about it made his dick jerk with excitement. “You’re sure she wants me to take what I want without asking? To be possessive and demanding?”
At this, Whitney giggled. “You used to be that way, Justin. When she first brought you around, I wasn’t sure I liked you because you had a way of overshadowing her personality. You seemed larger than life to her, and she lived to make you happy. She arranged her schedule around you, bought clothes she thought you’d like to see her in, and she tried anything you wanted her to try. She needs to please you.”
And he hadn’t noticed because he’d been too busy trying to arrange his life around hers, dress the way she seemed to like best, and plan outings he thought she’d enjoy. From the beginning, Trish had only wanted to serve him. They hadn’t known anything about the D/s lifestyle, but they’d fallen into it naturally—minus the communication piece. That had been a grave mistake, one he had resolved to rectify. The kink was just another facet of that dynamic.
Tomorrow would either save their marriage or destroy it.
2
Justin rose
early, as he always did, and watched the woman sleeping next to him. Trish didn’t stir even though shafts of soft light penetrated the cracks in the curtains. He wanted to lift her nightgown, pin her hands over her head, and wake her up by thrusting deep into her sleep-soft body.
Her eyes would be bleary and dark in this half light. She would stare at him in wonder for a second, and then she would surrender to his will and his passion. It would be like it used to be when they were first married—when they couldn’t get enough of each other. Now, given the number of times she’d pushed away his questing hands, it just didn’t seem consensual anymore.
Rolling from bed, he took his morning wood into the shower and entertained himself with the fantasy of fucking his captivating wife of fifteen years. This would be the last morning he let her sleep undisturbed.
A half hour later, dressed in comfortable jeans and a cotton shirt, he headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. He broke out eggs, milk, cheese, and bread. Mikayla, their oldest, loved the way he made cheesy scrambled eggs. She would whisper that she liked them better than Trish’s, but he knew the truth. Trish hated eggs and refused to make them.
Bacon sizzled, and the toaster let out a ding. A small tug on his shirt caught his attention. “Where’s Mommy?”
He ignored the twinge of guilt in his gut. Of course she wanted Trish first thing. Trish got them up each day, snuggled them until they were awake, bundled them off to day care, and then picked them up after a full day teaching music to six hundred elementary students. She made dinner whether or not he was there to dine with them. And when he worked really late, she tucked them into bed at night. She’d tucked them in last night while he had been at his last session with Whitney.
Of course, she thought he had been working late.
“Mommy’s sleeping. She has a big day ahead of her, so we’ll let her sleep and surprise her with breakfast.” He crouched down and held his arms open for a hug.
Mikayla blinked uncomprehendingly, and then her sleepy brown eyes opened a little more. She smiled and snuggled into his shoulder. He lifted her, and then he stirred the eggs.
“I made your favorite, baby.”
“Daddy, I’m not a baby. I’m going to kindergarten next year.”
He grinned at her indignant tone, which conflicted with the way her entire body relaxed into his hold. “You’ll always be my baby, Kay-Kay.”
“Hannah’s the baby.”
Every inch her mother’s daughter, Mikayla wasn’t going to cede the point.
“Yep.” No sense in arguing. She’d realize sooner or later he’d never change his mind.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. His family was waking up. Trish appeared, still clad in her rumpled nightgown. Hannah hung from her neck like a baby koala.
He smiled, but he wondered if it reached his eyes. “Good morning, ladies.”
Trish frowned. “I thought you had a trip today.”
She was pissed at him. Though she didn’t say anything about all the late hours and business trips, they grated on her nerves and eroded the foundation of their marriage. He’d learned a few things from reading her questionnaire, both things she’d disclosed and things he’d inferred. She had all but come out and said she felt like a single mother, not the sexy, desirable women who occupied his fantasies in the shower every morning.
Negotiation. In his first session with Whitney, they’d done nothing more than talk about communication. Want a quickie in the morning? Negotiate terms for when that would be acceptable. Want her to not wear underwear to bed? Negotiate terms for when that would happen. Want her to stop pretending like nothing was wrong with their relationship? Negotiate terms for conversation. Even if he had to tie her up or spank her, he had to force her to spill her guts. It was the essence of what was wrong in their relationship. They never talked about anything. When he’d told her that he had a conference to attend this weekend, she hadn’t shown much of a reaction. She hadn’t even pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide annoyance.
Sometimes, learning to dominate and discipline seemed like marriage counseling. Talk it out, talk it out, talk it out. In a scene, he had to know what she did and didn’t want. He had to be in tune with her desires, and he had to know when to ask how she was doing.
Ten years ago, he knew how to touch her. He knew how to look at her to make her blush. He could get away with fingering her in the movie theater, her soft moans disguised by the loud cacophony from the action flick he’d chosen for just that reason. Now he wasn’t certain he would be allowed to hold her hand in the theater. He didn’t even know if she liked action movies anymore, much less if she liked to get action at the movies.
She frowned and turned her attention to the kids, a sure sign of displeasure. Perhaps she thought he hadn’t listened to her question.
“I don’t have to leave until ten. I wanted to let you sleep late. You won’t be able to tomorrow.” He didn’t mention that she wouldn’t be sleeping late because he would be waking her up for sex. That definitely wouldn’t go over well. Hopefully this weekend would change both their attitudes.
She turned away, but not before he saw the guilt in her eyes. He doubted she would get in the car with him later. Her fantasy began with being blindfolded and kidnapped by a stranger she didn’t get to see. Not the safest way to start a scene, but he didn’t care to argue that point. He would be the one kidnapping her, so she would be safe.
“My parents are taking the kids for the weekend.” Her attempt to fling that as a challenge didn’t quite make it over her shoulder. He heard the subtext. A good husband would clear his schedule and spend some quality time with his wife.
Just wait.
After breakfast, he headed to the bedroom to double-check his bag. She wouldn’t follow him. That would open her to the possibility of an intimate moment, and she had long ago stopped taking emotional chances with him. If he wasn’t so absent, she would feel closer to him. If he felt closer to her, he wouldn’t feel like it was okay to be absent so much. One problem fed the other, and it was ruining their marriage.
He sipped his coffee and made sure his overnight bag had all the things Whitney had told him to bring. The cabin was already stocked with many items, but he wanted to make sure he had the floggers he’d used in practice all these weeks. Training on the leather-covered mannequins with sensors that provided digital feedback hadn’t been nearly as nerve-racking as practicing on a real person. Whitney had offered her body as fodder to help polish his skills, calling out feedback so that he could hone his technique. When he’d gone a whole session without hearing a peep from her, he’d known he was finally ready.
Of course, he’d spent some time under the lash himself. After those sessions, talking with Whitney had opened his eyes to what submissives gained from the experience. Yes, it was sexually exciting, but more than that, submissives hungered for the peace that came with subspace. They craved knowing someone cared enough to give them the pain and pleasure they needed. They basked in the closeness it generated.
Justin wondered why they didn’t give out questionnaires with a marriage license. Check the box if you expect your husband to take out the trash, make enough money to take an expensive vacation twice a year, attend every one of the kids’ soccer practices, and spank you before sex.
Next he triple-checked to see if he had a butt plug. Never in a million years would he have considered using her ass for sexual purposes. Perhaps he lacked imagination, but it had never seemed like an option. The answers on her questionnaire made it clear she not only considered it an option—she demanded it be exercised. Now that he knew it was on the table, he fantasized about the experience. That conversation had made him want to go home and try it on Trish right away. But he hadn’t, because it would blow the surprise of the scenario she had so painstakingly crafted.
He brushed his teeth and steeled his nerves. She wanted this. He wanted this.
He kissed his girls goodbye and stifled a growl when Trish turned her head, denying him the
pleasure of her lips. That was the last time he would allow that kind of behavior. Knowing she wanted him to push her on these issues gave him all the permission he needed.
He put his suitcase into his car and headed for the rental place to change his SUV for the one he had reserved for their trip. It would give Trish time to settle the girls at her parents’ house and walk to the pickup location.
* * *
Whitney had given her a list of items to pack. She wasn’t allowed to bring her purse, not that it mattered. It was full of receipts and to-do lists, evidence of the life she wanted to escape.
She rummaged through the bag to make sure everything was there, locked up the house, and walked the three blocks to the main road bordering her subdivision on the north side. The sun shone brightly in one of those wonderful spring days that made her want to run barefoot in the grass. She wore jeans and a tank top, as per Whitney’s instructions, and tennis shoes.
She didn’t feel sexy or desirable. She didn’t feel like anything other than the thirty-six-year-old mother of two who could no longer wear the same sizes she had when she’d met her husband. A sigh whooshed from between her lips as she stopped at the appointed location. The strip mall boasted a pharmacy, a sports bar, and a quick oil change station. She stood on the narrow sidewalk between the pharmacy and the road, keeping the pale brick wall at her back.
A black SUV stopped on the road in front of her. Patricia held her breath. The instructions said he would be driving a black SUV. She wondered what he would look like, this mystery man whose fantasy matched hers. She should have asked to see a picture.