by Anna Parsons
Hard Limits
Evangeline Hope, new to bondage and submission, seeks to belong…to someone. A trained concert pianist, Evie gave up her dreams to avoid the pitfalls of a life on stage, where it was less about the music and more about her appearance—mixed race, petite, curvy, copper hair, intense green eyes, creamy skin, and freckles.
Owner of an exclusive fetish club Dylan Rankin has the opportunity to watch over Evie when she enters on the arm of another. Evie invades his dreams, during a time when he is a shell of his former self after the tragic death of his wife Anne, and becomes “His Hope.”
With Anne’s help and guidance, Dylan fights to get Evie to open up to him, as he teaches her to be the sub he wants her to be, and she learns to become the woman she is meant to be. They engage in an intense sensual experience, including bondage, discipline…and lots of sex.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Paranormal
Length: 94,326 words
HARD LIMITS
Anna Parsons
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
HARD LIMITS
Copyright © 2013 by Anna Parsons
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-314-9
First E-book Publication: February 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
To S.C.,
You are a bright light that entered my life like a shooting star, lighting my path and showing me the way.
With Love,
Anna
HARD LIMITS
ANNA PARSONS
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
I was born thirty-three years ago. I died three years ago, but it took my body a year to breathe its last breath. You see, three years ago, I was driving home from our new club when I had an accident, which left me paralyzed. It wasn’t raining, or snowing, or whatever other weather phenomenon you can think of. I wasn’t texting, or talking on the phone, nor was I drunk. I was just day dreaming, or night dreaming, I should say. The night at the club had been one of our best. Dylan allowed his closest friends, Chris and Ben, to use me…hard. You see, exclusivity wasn’t my thing. My babe understood my kink, accepted it, even though sharing was not really his thing. The accident was unfortunate. To think that the last thing on my mind before I ran off the road was fucking someone other than my husband is embarrassing, and I am ashamed. I never told him about why the accident happened. Not when he bathed me, not when he washed my hair, not when he fed me, read to me, nor when he held my hand while I cried.
Hello. My name is Annabel Josephine St. Martins-Rankin. I prefer to be called Anne. I’ve been to Heaven. When I was in the arms of my husband, Dylan, I was in Heaven. Where I am right now is unimportant. Frankly, where I’ve been is also inconsequential. I have a mission to complete. My husband, my life, Dylan is alone and I feel obligated to fix it. It is my fault that he finds himself alone. I died without consulting him, without asking permission. I just left. My mind was as it always was, but my body was just a shell. In a way, I am glad my body didn’t hang on longer. Seeing what I became was too much for him.
Dylan and I met at college. I was finishing my degree in biology, and he was a graduate student. The day we met, campus police were investigating an incident where a young man had struck his girlfriend. She happened to be my roommate and the boyfriend was one of Dylan’s friends. Our eyes met. It was intense. My babe…dark hair that my hands itched to touch, penetrating black eyes that seemed to read my thoughts, lips that I imagined touching mine, and a body that could dominate and overpower me. I had never been into white guys, and he’d never dated a Hispanic woman, so we were both entering new territory. We quickly discovered that I was the sub to his Dom, so our courtship was brief. We were married in a lavish affair, our parents completely opposed to our plans for Vegas nuptials. It was, after all, to be our only wedding.
Dylan became a legend in the BDSM community, training with Masters, developing his craft. He was the youngest major club owner in the country, and one of the most impressive, skilled, and sought-after Doms in the lifestyle. My husband and Master conceived of and created our oasis. Club Exxcess, situated on ten acres of perfectly planted and manicured land, where every bush, shrub, and tree had a purpose, mostly decadent. In Dylan’s family for generations, the mansion was large and remote, perfect for the club of his dreams. His mother, Katherine, didn’t understand at first, but she had come around. His father, Owen, a successful restaurateur, helped him get started and helped us avoid the mistakes of most new club owners, making Exxcess a success from the start. Here is a hint for you, the membership fee to stroll the halls of Exxcess topped $25,000 per year, and there was a waiting list. Where most clubs stopped the curious at the door, Dylan welcomed newcomers, seeing the fresh faces as the future. We were one of the first clubs to offer training courses, welcoming international specialists in various techniques and methods to take play to the next level. The five figure annual fee and Dylan’s rigorous screening process kept the club exclusive and its members’ identities a secret. Any leaks were quickly plugged.
I loved the grounds surrounding the mans
ion. My favorite place to sit and simply be at ease was the gazebo. It was old, and had seen better days, but I wanted it unchanged. As with all of my wishes, Dylan held fast and it remained the same as it always was. Large enough to hold a few dozen people, its wood was warped in places and some of the rail spindles were missing, but I loved it, and so he loved it. The heartbreak came later…much later. Our lives were almost perfect. Almost…We badly wanted children, but it never happened. I guess some divine power wouldn’t allow it. I know it was a disappointment for my dear husband, but he never blamed me. That’s the man that he is. Strong, honorable, humble, dominant, decisive, beautiful…Master.
After the accident left me paralyzed, I hoped that Dylan would move on with his life and find a sub that was suited to his tastes and satisfied him completely. To me, the fire was a blessing. I was finally free of the body that lay still no matter how my mind screamed for it to move. In my newfound freedom, I ran through meadows, soared through the clouds, and walked…just walked. I was reveling in my body when something in the back of my mind called to me…Dylan. I returned to find him living with his parents, unable to bear being alone, unable to work, grieving for me. I felt relief, he felt pain.
It was then that I realized I had the ability to “visit” him. When I first came to him in his dreams, he didn’t believe that I was really there, but thought I was just a fantasy, a reliving of the life we had. It took a few visits for him to realize that I was there with him, in sleep and waking life. He began to expect me to be there when he closed his eyes. We talked for hours while sitting in the gazebo that I loved so much. After a time, I realized that it was a continuation of my last year of life. He wasn’t going out and living. Instead, he was making himself sleep in order to spend time with me. I begged him to find someone, but he was still in love and wouldn’t think of disrespecting his memory of me. I had to do something to help him to restart his life.
Now, let me tell you about Evangeline Hope. Smart, beautiful, big-hearted, generous, alluring, sexy, and submissive, Evangeline Hope is my husband’s future. She was with me in the emergency room after the accident, an ER nurse who touched my heart that night with her spirit. I was in the hospital for months after the accident, in and out of consciousness, bandaged from head to toe, and Evie was there with me every day. I didn’t know why she took an interest in me, and I am sure she had no idea either. Sitting by my bed, reading to me from her favorite books, or playing for me on the portable keyboard that she would sneak in, I learned about her life, her successes, and her disappointments. She wanted to be loved in the way that she loves, with her whole heart. She jumped in headfirst with her past paramours but ended up hurt. She told me of a man of her dreams, who would nurture an interest she hadn’t dared explore, bondage and submission. She recounted the times she snuck into her brother’s room to get a glimpse of his contraband, which included some vivid bondage magazines. The images had her captivated. She would go to bed and dream of being the woman tied at her Master’s feet, bending to his will. He was strong and powerful, just a glance would tell her what he wanted her to do. Evie had come to think of it as a pipedream, never to be fulfilled. She was embarrassed to talk about it to anyone else, so given my state, she was a bit more comfortable. Unable to leave my bed, or even sit up without her assistance, I told her that I would keep her secrets, and I have.
My job was to get them together, after all they were only a few degrees of separation apart most of their lives, just missing meeting on several occasions.
I admit that bringing these two people together is my sole responsibility…my death’s work, so to speak. Yes, I stepped in and steered them together where fate was on holiday. I will not apologize for my actions, nor will I try to explain further. Suffice it to say, I am committed to making my husband happy and to finding joy for the delightful little lady who sat by my side just because. This is their story…our story.
Chapter 1:
Dylan
“Good evening to the Houston business community, friends, and family,” Owen Rankin started. His impeccably tailored tuxedo hugged his sturdy frame. “I am honored to introduce my son, Dylan, as your Man of the Year.” The room erupted in applause. “I never had a doubt that Dylan would become a great man, because he was a great child, and his mother wouldn’t have it any other way.” He laughed as he looked over at his wife, Katherine, seated next to his son on the dais. “I think it is only appropriate that Dylan insisted that this gathering be held in the shadow of his latest charitable venture.” He motioned to the brick building. The two dozen tables of guests enjoyed the spring breeze and the gourmet dinner in the garden behind the Rankin Clinic. “I could stand here all night, telling you what I think of my son, but they told me to keep it brief.” More laughter. “But, there is no way that I could sit down without saying that I’ve been awed by my son since he was born. From his first step, I knew he was special. Most toddlers stand on wobbly legs and rock back and forth a few times before lifting a leg and ultimately taking a tentative step. Not Dylan. He stood up and broke into a run. Nothing was safe in the house.” He chuckled. “I know he doesn’t remember this, but we had to put a leash on him to keep him still. All we had was the dog’s leash, so when we had to control Dylan, the dog would go crazy, because the leash was his cue that he was about to go for a walk.” The room erupted. “So, I would get frustrated, as men tend to do, and would yell ‘shut up, you damn dog.’ Well, Dylan picked up on everything, and from that point forward, the dog’s name was…” He pointed to Dylan.
“Damn dog,” Dylan said with a smile.
“Imagine a two-year-old running around screaming ‘damn dog! Damn dog!’ That was the first time we were asked to leave the country club, but I digress.” He paused to gather himself as the crowd roared with laughter, his emotions starting to surface. The audience continued to snicker, as Owen Rankin’s passion for his son showed on his face. “All kidding aside, I am proud to introduce the best man I have ever had the pleasure to know, my son, Dylan Rankin.” The crowd stood, clapping furiously, as Dylan rose to his full six foot three inches and buttoned the coat on his tailored tuxedo. He grabbed his father in a bear hug before he took his place, adjusting the microphone.
Dylan stood before the podium in front of two hundred business people gathered to honor his accomplishments, his dark eyes scanning the room, seeing some faces he recognized, but more strangers. He ran his fingers through his pitch-black hair and laughed as he began to speak. “Thanks, Dad, for that bit of information. I had a feeling that there would be many laughs at my expense tonight, but it’s all in good fun,” Dylan started. “I remember being a young man growing up in Houston at the feet of my father, learning his business, how to make money, and how to be a man. As a child, I never wanted for anything. I never knew hunger or want. My parents doted on me as their only child, and I loved them as kind and supportive stewards of my future. As I aged, I discovered that their relationship was unique, full of love and playfulness and mutual respect. I had friends from broken homes, raised by single parents, or grandparents. I don’t envy them, and frankly, they don’t envy me. From my friends, I learned to be loyal, strong, and understanding. From my parents, I learned to love,” Dylan read from his neatly typed note cards. “Over time, I realized the kind of man I was becoming. In control of myself and my destiny, confident in my abilities, charming—almost sickeningly so.” And dominant, he thought. The crowd chuckled. “I worked for everything I have. Yes, my parents have considerable wealth, but their wealth is not my wealth. It was intriguing to me that a person could provide a service and get rich because other people wanted to borrow, partake, or use that service, even temporarily. I was determined to make my own way in the world, not ride the coattails of rich parents. Supportive and proud of me, they paid for my education, and I repaid every nickel. Business became a game to me.”
There’s one area of my life that’s not a game, nor is it even remotely humorous…my love life, he thought as he scanned the room. He c
ontinued on smoothly with his speech until his eyes locked with a pair or perfectly green eyes staring back at him, causing him to lose his breath for a moment. Who is she? He had to reach for and take several sips from a glass of water to calm his cough. As he replaced the glass, he looked back toward where she had been standing, but he saw nothing. For the next several minutes, he continued with his planned speech, skimming the faces in the room, looking for her, but she was gone.
Chapter 2:
Evangeline–Dylan’s Hope
Evie walked down the line of teenagers, all dressed in black slacks and starched white shirts, preparing to serve the dinner to the gathered crowd. She paused before a tall, slim, dark-skinned young man. “Caleb, tuck in your shirt better. You look like you slept in it.”
“Naw, Miss Evie,” he said as he tucked in his shirt. “I was shooting some hoops before we put the tables on the basketball court. How long do we gotta to do this? I got some things to do.”
Evie reached up on her tiptoes, grabbed his left ear, and pulled him down close to her. “Let’s make a deal,” she said, looking into his eyes. “You stick with me, get this dinner served and the place cleaned up, and I’ll let you have next Saturday off to do whatever ‘things’ you need to do. And, I’ll tell your mama that you’re working on a project for me. Deal?” She released his ear.