Contents
Title Page
Adult Advisory
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
Also By Maggie Carpenter
Hollywood After Dark: Act Two
THE STUNTMAN
This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book contains scenes of nonconsensual activities, BDSM and other nonconsensual activities. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.
Published by
Dark Secrets Press
Copyright © 2015 Maggie Carpenter
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Ebook Cover Design
Ashley@ Redbird Designs
Visit the author at:
https://www.Amazon.com/author/maggiecarpenter
www.MaggieCarpenter.com/blog
www.facebook.com/MaggieCarpenterWriter
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www.maggiecarpenter.com
Chapter One
Belinda took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
It’s just a cup of coffee. No big deal. He doesn’t know my real name, he knows nothing about me, well, not really, except that we share a crazy kink. God, I wish I could stop shaking.
Using the fake name, Felicity, she was meeting him, for the first time. The guy with whom she’d exchanged too many emails to count, the guy whose photograph and literary wit had tickled her fancy, the guy who had assured he wouldn’t hesitate to spank her if they clicked.
I know it’s why I joined the ‘Friendly Spanker’ site, but I didn’t think I would actually end up agreeing to meet someone. Shit. Am I really going to stay here and do this? Shit.
The truth was she didn’t want a friendly anything. She wanted to meet someone special, someone who made her stomach do that thing, that thing she hadn’t felt in a very long time, but it was even more than that. Belinda wanted to meet a Dominant. Belinda wanted to be with a Dominant. Belinda wanted the whole nine Dominant yards. A real Dominant, not just someone who would tie her up occasionally. She’d been there, done that, and it wasn’t enough.
She wanted a man who would devour her body and consume her heart. A man with whom she felt safe and protected, a man who could shoot a gun and ride a horse, a cowboy, a businessman, a lawyer, she didn’t care, she just wanted a down-to-earth, old-fashioned, John Wayne. A man from yesteryear. A man who could handle her, Miss Independent.Summoning her courage, heart thumping she ordered coffee, her eyes constantly darting across to the door every time she heard the jangle of the bell. She was early, but that was on purpose. She wanted to be settled with her latte when he walked in. No awkward silence standing in line; she couldn’t abide standing in line. Even with friends it made her uncomfortable.
The coffee shop wasn’t a Starbucks, or a Peets, or a part of a chain. It was a popular neighborhood cafe, a family owned French patisserie that offered outstanding pastries and the best coffee in town. She’d counted on the popular part, hoping that the people milling about would help her comfort level, but the stars had not aligned; the place was virtually empty.
Picking up her drink she chose a place by the paned windows, and setting her thick mug on the table she sat down and sucked in a long deep breath.
Get a grip. It’s just a cup of coffee, it’s just a cup of coffee, it’s just a cup of coffee.
Wrapping her fingers around the sugar jar she tipped it up, and absently watched the white crystals create a hole in the center of the heavy foam. Slowly stirring she glanced out at the parking lot and saw a gleaming silver motorbike roll to a stop, and a tall, leather-clad man climb off. He expertly balanced the heavy machine on its kickstand and pulled off his helmet.
Good grief, look at him. He’s a walking cover for a romance novel. Holy crap. What’s a guy like that doing on a dating site? What am I thinking? It’s probably someone else. A guy like that wouldn’t be on a dating site... would he?
His hair wasn’t long or short, but she could see it was thick and slightly curly. It hit his collar at the back of his neck and barely covered his ears, and as he ran his fingers through it, the soft curls fell perfectly into place.
Why do so many guys have hair like that? All they have to do is jump in the shower, towel it dry, and hey, presto, perfect. It’s so not fair.
He unzipped the top half of his jacket, which she noticed wasn’t covered in garish studs or chrome, but was wrinkled and worn and sexy as hell. As he began walking quickly towards the cafe she squinted; he looked familiar.
Wait, that could be him. The guy in the photo had really short hair, unless, maybe, that picture was taken a while ago. He’s way too cute. My gosh, he looks like that guy from White Collar, what’s his name? Neil Caffrey? No, that’s the character name. Matt Bomer, that’s it. My gosh, he looks like him, except rugged and muscular. If that’s him, his photo did not do him justice, not one bit.
Her heart began its thumping again, and holding her breath her eyes followed him as he turned the corner and walked through the door, tinkling the bell above his head.
Please let it be him, please let it be him, please, please...
She watched as his gaze scanned the room, and when his eyes touched hers he broke into a smile and began ambling towards her.
Shit, dimples, he’s even got dimples.
“Felicity?” he asked
If I wasn’t, I’d lie!
* * *
When Blake had left to meet the appealing girl who had so shyly, then confidently, responded to his emails, his expectations were in the ‘whatever’ realm. This wasn’t his first foray into the meet and greet, dating site scenario, though it had been over a year, and in the past they had almost always ended in disappointment.
The wome
n rarely lived up to their photographs, or they had less than sparkling personalities, but Blake lived life as an optimist, so he’d jumped on his motorcycle and headed off, deciding on the long route over the winding canyon roads.
Zipping around the corners there was no thought, just the feel of the powerful bike and the enjoyment of the ride, but as he slowed for the traffic light at the bottom of the hill, the Pacific Ocean sparkling in front of him, his mind flashed back to the photograph she’d sent him; it was different.
Rather than a glamorous headshot, or a series of photos taken at various times in various places, some calling into question whether it was the same woman reflected in each, it was a snapshot of a pretty girl with shoulder-length brown hair and a bright smile, seated on a blanket on a beach. Wearing a white T-shirt and red shirts, her windswept hair appeared to have been kissed by the sun; the blonde streaks were haphazard, not artfully applied. She looked spontaneous, fun, completely natural, and she had great legs.
It had been many months since Blake had enjoyed the delectable sight of a bare-bottomed woman over his lap. Sometimes the craving became so intense he felt like a spanking vampire, lusting after the sight, the feel, and the surge of energy it gave him.
A spanking was how he’d introduce a woman to his sexual being. It was the first step, and if they responded he’d add a blindfold, then move into light bondage. Blake was a Dominant, and though he had shared his life with submissive women, he had yet to find the one. A woman who would ignite his heart and touch his soul.
Finally succumbing to his need, it was with reluctance he’d perused the Friendly Spankers website, paid the $25 for three months, and created his profile. The process was tedious, but the vampire was thirsty, and so he’d suffered through it.
Felicity was the only woman he’d contacted, and initially it had been the brevity of her profile that had captured his interest; it was almost as barren as his. Under, Occupation, she’d written, I have one. He had laughed out loud; he’d written exactly the same thing. Experience had taught him not to spill the beans about his work too soon. People thought he was crazy, or wanted to hang out with him because of it. The very last question of the profile asked, what are you looking for? She had written, more than friends, which he’d thought was refreshingly honest. It put his sarcastic, what do you think, to shame, so much so that he’d immediately changed it to, I’m open.
He hadn’t been familiar with the cafe she’d suggested, but when he saw the quaint bakery sign and the paned windows he was glad he’d come. He was tired of the sameness of the famous coffee houses, and just the thought of sitting in a place that was personal and comfortable he found immensely appealing.
If nothing else maybe I’ve found a new hangout. I’ll bet they have great coffee, and even better pastries.
Rolling his bike into the parking lot he’d found it happily empty and was able to park directly in front. It was when he was pulling off his helmet that he thought he’d glimpsed her at the window, and running his hands through his mass of loose curls he’d grimaced.
Damn, I must look a sight. Why have I been cursed with this wretched mop of hair?
Unzipping the top of the jacket that had seen more rejections and seductions than he could remember, he’d ambled across the small lot and turned the corner to the door, but as he’d wrapped his fingers around the handle he’d suddenly realized he’d fallen out of ‘whatever’ mode.
Okay, weird, but okay. Stop a minute; when you go in don’t just charge over to the girl in the window, it might not even be her. Stop and look around, make sure. You don’t need to make a total fool of yourself right off the bat!
Taking a quick breath he’d pushed through the door and purposely looked around before turning to face her. The moment their eyes touched he’d felt a slight something, and as he’d started towards her, his pulse ticked up.
She looked like her picture, exactly like her picture, and when she broke into a toothpaste commercial smile he found himself wanting to kiss her.
“Felicity?”
She paused a moment, then nodded her head.
“I am, so then, you’re Blake.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I’m Blake,” and if I wasn’t I’d lie.
Chapter Two
“I’m not very good at these kinds of meetings,” she blushed as he sat down opposite her.
“That’s a good thing,” he smiled. “I’m not either.”
“It’s a good thing? Why?”
“The only way to get good at something is practice.”
“Ah, you’re right. It would mean you might be a player, and I might be, what? Picky? Difficult?”
“Something,” he chuckled. “I’m not sure.”
“So, uh, where do we start?” I wish I could tell you how dreamy your eyes are?
“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself, like, how do you earn a nickel?” he asked, and is that twinkle in your eye always there, or is that just for me?
“Ugh, it’s boring, well, not boring exactly, but ordinary.”
“If you’d rather not—”
“Oh, no, it’s not that, it’s like I said, it’s boring. I wish I could say I was, I don’t know, a fashion photographer, or maybe an interior decorator, but I can’t. I’m just a nurse.”
“Just a nurse? That’s a noble profession, and I can’t imagine being a nurse would be boring.”
“It’s not, but I think it sounds boring. I’m a trauma nurse.”
“Wow. That’s impressive,” he exclaimed. “You must see so much.”
“I do. You wouldn’t believe some of the stupid things people do in the name of fun or to make a dollar. I swear if I see one more broken bone because of a skateboard or a parachute jump, oops, sorry, I’ve been feeling a bit burned out lately. I didn’t mean to get carried away but it is infuriating. Life is such a gift, and to put it at risk by racing a car, or jumping off a building... and there I go again, back on my soap box. As I said, I’ve had enough. I want to get out of the hospital and do something else, but I’m not sure what exactly.”
He’d sat there quietly listening, and feeling his heart drop.
“Enough about me. What about you?” she asked eagerly. “Are you in the corporate world? Even dressed in all that leather I can imagine you in a suit.”
“Um, no, definitely not in corporate.”
“Then?”
“The entertainment business. I’m in the entertainment business.”
“Really? That’s exciting. Are you an actor, director, or do you work behind the scenes?”
“Hard to explain,” he said slowly, wishing her eyes weren’t so luminous and her mouth wasn’t so kissable, and the desire to sit across from her over a dinner table wasn’t filling his head. “I guess you’d say, I’m more than a stand-in or an extra, but not exactly an actor. Let’s talk about something else. Shall we be really mundane and discuss your favorite movie?”
“If you want. The original Thomas Crown Affair. Yours?”
“That’s a great movie. The sequel was too, but the happy ending ruined it for me.”
“You don’t like happy endings?”
“I don’t have anything against happy endings, but if they’re contrived it can kill a good movie. The ending of the original Thomas Crown Affair added to the uniqueness of that movie. If they had to create a happy ending for the sequel, in that last scene couldn’t he have said, I’ll spank you, rather than whatever it was he did say? See, I don’t even remember what it was. I’ll bet everyone would remember Pierce Brosnan saying, I’ll put you over my knee and spank you.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she laughed trying to ignore the blush that was moving across her face, “and I agree. The ending of the first Thomas Crown Affair was one of the things that made it so perfect. He was so switched on, one step ahead of her the whole time.”
“That worked for you?”
“My favorite scene,” she said wistfully, ignoring his question, “was when they were on
the beach in front of the fire, and she asked if he’d ever brought anyone else there. Remember? She’d seen the photos of him with that other girl...”
“Of course I remember,” he smiled. “Steve McQueen said, ‘hey, she was just a way of putting you in touch with yourself.’ It was great.”
“Ooh, I loved that moment,” she sighed. “There were so many fabulous moments. That endless kiss after he said, ‘let’s play something else.’ The way he grabbed her by her arm and pulled her to her feet gave me total goosebumps. It still does. I swear, I melt every time I see it. I love those sixties movies, but those scenes are my two, all-time favorite movie moments.”
“Great moments,” he agreed.
“Yours?”
“I guess, the last scene of Casablanca.”
“Again with the sad ending,” she remarked.
“Oh, yeah, I hadn’t thought about that.”
For an hour they talked, and laughed, and drank the fabulous coffee and consumed several pastries, and she finally dropped her chin in her hand and looked into his smoky blue eyes.
“I have to go. I have a shift in an hour, but I really enjoyed this.”
“I did too,” he smiled, and I want to see you again, I mean I really want to see you again. I want to kiss you, I very much want to kiss you.
“Will you walk me to my car?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Standing from the table he gestured her forward, and as they headed to the door he dropped a covert glance at her round cheeks moving against the seat of her white slacks.
I very much want to kiss you, and I want to spank you maybe even more than I want to kiss you!
Following her across the parking lot to the compact, silver BMW, he stood patiently as she fished for her keys and popped the lock.
“Would you have dinner, I mean, will you have dinner with me? Soon?” God, I sound like I’m seventeen.
“I’d like that very much,” she replied.
“Can I say something ungentlemanly?”
The Stuntman Page 1