"Poor baby. You're only twenty-seven."
"I've been dating girls since I was fourteen years old. I've never even come close to being serious about one."
"How come?"
"Don't know. You got any Fresca?"
"Don't I always? Wait a minute." Auden got up and delivered the soda, then poured the last of the wine into her own glass. "You okay?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I didn't have much to drink. Just tired." Gayle took a long swallow. "My mom's divorced. My older sister is a single mom. I haven't exactly been surrounded by examples of happy relationships."
Auden nodded. "Same here. My parents divorced when I was twelve. My mother seems happy with my stepfather though. I just always thought..."
"What?"
"That she married him because it was convenient, or maybe necessary. There doesn't seem to be a lot of...passion between them."
Gayle snorted softly. "I'd take someone who could stand my mood in the morning over hot sex right about now."
"You think the two are mutually exclusive? Love and good sex?" Auden curled up in her chair, running the edge of her soft flannel shirt through her fingers. She thought about the women who had so captivated her in Secret Storm. The love and affection and physical passion the two had shared. That's fiction, Aud. Come on.
"No, not really. Just rare." Gayle stretched and grinned. "I'm probably just premenstrual. Give me a week, and 111 be dragging home the next love of my life."
"Who knows?" Auden smiled. "Maybe you'll meet her tomorrow night at the party."
"Huh. So what are you doin'? Homework still?"
"Work-work, actually. I'm reviewing a manuscript."
"Anyone I know?"
"Uh-huh.Rune Dyre."
"Oh, yeah—she's one of my faves." Gayle sat up and leaned forward, her eyes dancing. "Whatcha reading?"
"Dark Passions"
"Ooh—I love that one."
"What do you mean you love it?" Auden's brows rose. "It's not published yet,"
"I mean the Web version. It's practically an Internet legend."
"Web version?" Auden felt as if she were suddenly speaking another language. "What are you talking about?"
Gayle sighed, rose, and held out her hand. "Come on, honey. You need some more lessons."
A minute later, they were perched in front of Auden's computer. Gayle typed www. HeartLand. com and clicked Go. Seconds later, the website appeared.
Auden leaned forward and read:
HeartLand
Welcome to Rune Dyre's fiction. Enter, linger, enjoy. These are love stories disguised as fantasies, mysteries, and chance encounters. The lovers are women and their love is
physical.
Please send comments to [email protected]
Auden took the mouse from Gayle and followed the links to the stories.
Webversions
Hidden Dreams
Dark Destiny
Secret Storm
Dark Passions
She clicked on the first chapter of Dark Passions and began to read. Her visual memory was nearly eidetic. As she scanned the first paragraph, she immediately saw the differences from the manuscript she had just read—there were changes, but in some places they were subtle,
"This is crazy," Auden exclaimed, scanning quickly through several more pages. "This is my manuscript."
"Well, actually," Gayle pointed out, "it isn't. It's a beta version. An early draft."
"But it's out here for people to read free."
"Uh-huh. Good promo."
"Promo?" Auden gaped at her, incensed. "How about lethal competition? Why buy the book when you can get it here for nothing?"
"Plenty of reasons," Gayle said with an unconcerned shrug. "The print versions are lots more of a good thing—extra scenes, more dialogue, smoother prose—the pleasure of holding the book in your hands and reading it anywhere you want. A lot of authors do it."
"We'll see about that," Auden muttered. "We need a market study to look at this."
Gayle stood and rubbed Auden's shoulders. "Wait a few days before you get yourself in an uproar. I'll show you around the Web. We'll check out some other authors, see what's on other sites. You'll need to get a sense of it anyhow, 'cause this is where you're going to fmd a lot of your readers."
"More homework, huh?"
"Yeah, but high school English was never like this, honey."
Auden thought about what she had read so far, the physicality and the raw emotions and the sexual passion. And her own unexpected responses. "No, it most certainly was not."
Chapter Seven
A uden sat curled up in one corner of the plush brocade.sofa, her shoes on the floor, her stockinged feet tucked beneath her. Outside the windows, a light snow fell steadily. When she'd walked to the office at a little after seven, the scene that greeted her on the still Saturday morning had been breathtakingly idyllic. Rittenhouse Square lay pristine under a white blanket of fresh snow that covered the central fountain, the stone benches, and the carefully trimmed hedges. Here and there, a daring daffodil pierced the immaculate surface with an unexpected splash of color. The elegant park reminded her poignantly of the history and beauty of the old city.
Now, alone in her office in the Palmer building, she was lost in a scene that contrasted sharply with that quiet tranquility.
The stranger led her up a flight of stairs and into a darkened apartment. "Wait here."
She was aware of lights being turned on in other rooms and of the sound of soft music. She stood and waited, not thinking at all. When at last she heard sure footsteps approaching, her body stirred in anticipation. The effect this woman had on her was inexplicable, and, lost in the moment, she didn't try to understand. She responded purely with her senses, and she reveled in that sense of abandon. She didn't want to think. She wanted to feel, inis way.
She followed the blond stranger into a bedroom lit solely by soft blue lights in a recessed ceiling track, A small table stood next to a large rectangular bed that dominated the otherwise bare room. When the stranger turned suddenly to face her, she
stood absolutely still. In silence, the stranger reached out and loosed the buttons on her shirt, being careful not to touch the skin laid bare as the shirt fell away. Once exposed, her nipples contracted almost painfully, an urgent plea for contact.
"Your boots."
She hesitated only a second and then unbuckled each of her heavy black boots and pulled them off. Naked except for her leather pants, she stood before the stranger, still waiting. A slender hand traced the muscles in her shoulders and arms, and then a palm lay against her chest and pressed, softly massaging the muscles beneath the smooth skin. Eventually, both hands moved down to her abdomen, carefully avoiding her breasts, oudining flickering muscles with deliberate strokes.
The slow, wordless survey set a fire simmering in her belly. She felt her clitoris swell and moisture Sow in response to the stimulation. Her chest was covered with a thin film of sweat. She was panting slightly in the still room.
"Lie down on the bed. Face me."
She did as directed, her eyes locked on the stranger's.
"You can say anything you want to me right now, but after this, no more. I won't hurt you, but once I start, I won't stop until Im done."
Looking back steadily, she searched for a clue as to who this woman was. The face was edgy and strong. The eyes, even in the half-light, were piercing and clear. Inexplicably, she sensed not danger, but honesty. "I'm all right."
The stranger nodded once and then moved purposefully to the side of the bed, reached somewhere beneath the frame, and pulled out soft, padded leather restraints. Deftly, the stranger bound her left hand, then moved to the other side and repeated the actions, leaving her securely but not painfully bound with her arms spread wide.
The stranger stood once again at the foot of the bed, slowly removing her own shirt, methodically baring her upper body. Small high breasts accentuated the finely muscled torso, and a pulse beat close to the
surface of a pale throat. Silence enclosed' them in the cone of blue light.
She was bombarded by conflicting sensations. The feeling of being helplessly bound was at once frightening and exhilarating. She wanted this woman on top of her, she wanted her inside of her, she wanted more than she could put words to. Her inability to actually seek her own release made her even more acutely aware of her desires. Her clitoris strained against the seam of her pants, threatening to explode just from the constant contact as her hips rocked back and forth. She stifled a groan as she stared transfixed at the strangers body, so close to her and yet so completely untouchable.
After what seemed like hours, all sense of time lost, the stranger placed both hands firmly on either side of her jaw and moved surprisingly gentle fingers over the flesh and bones of her face. Then, with one hand under her chin, the stranger tilted her head back, exposing her neck to its fullest,
"Close your eyes and keep them closed,"
Fingers traced the vulnerable structures of her throat, resting on the fragile windpipe as the blood rippled through the pulsating arteries just below the skin. A tongue ran lightly from her collarbone to her ear.
A voice, barely a whisper. "I don't want you to move. Just remember my hands on your throat while I'm making you come."
The words made her hips jerk, and as her pants were stripped away, she bit her lip to stifle a cry. She had never felt so physically vulnerable in her life. The restraints, on her ankles now as well as her arms, were barely perceptible, yet she was totally immobilized. Now, with her throat exposed, locked in darkness, she felt as if she had lost control of her very life. Despite the helplessness of her position, she was powerfully excited. She feared that the merest touch would set her off.
Dimly, in the last fragment of her thinking mind, she knew she could break the spell of her own bondage by a word to the stranger. But she didn't want to escape. She wanted to feel what the stranger aroused in her. She wanted to know how far into her physical self the stranger could take her.
More than she wanted to come, she wanted to know.
Suddenly, a sharp sensation centered in each breast as hands enclosed them, fingers squeezing the erect nipples hard. She gasped at the unexpected contact, her back arching. The entire surface of her body was sensitized with need. Her clitoris twitched urgently.
Just as suddenly, the small pinpoints of almost-pain disappeared, and a leather belt was placed the length of her abdomen, the buckle resting between her breasts. The soft tongue of leather was pressed into the triangle between her legs. The edges of the belt rode against her distended clitoris, and the roughness against the exposed nerves pushed her close to orgasm. She pulled against her restraints for the first time, wanting connection, needing to feel the heat of a body against her own.
"Please, no more" she groaned. "Please, I have to come."
"I'll decide."
When lips finally claimed hers, their tongues met in a probing duel. When fingers slipped inside her, the belt trapped beneath the palm rubbed the length of her distended flesh, and she moaned frantically. Her inner muscles contracted hard around the hand. When a thumb slipped beside the leather to beat an insistent rhythm against her clitoris, she closed her eyes tightly, jaws clenching, and tried to resist the aching need to come. But she was too far gone; her body arched and bucked as she closed around the fullness within, ripples of sensation flooding into her thighs, coiling through her belly. A strangled cry escaped her lips as the pounding in her head fused with that in her body, and her orgasm crested in one wave of unbound fury.
She was drifting on the edge of consciousness when the stranger straddled her, a leather-clad leg on either side of her thigh. She pushed her hips upward to meet the desperate downward thrusts, all of her energy immediately focused on bringing the same pleasure to the stranger that she had just experienced. The stranger gasped brokenly, jerking erratically, fingers clenched on her upper arms. There would be bruises*
When the stranger stiffened, then climaxed, moaning uncontrollably, she smiled, triumphant.
Auden rested the manuscript in her lap and closed her eyes. She'd read enough of the first draft of Dark Passions to know that it wasn't at all what she'd expected. She'd been interested in the story from the first line, just as quickly captivated by the sharply drawn characters with their thinly veiled pain as she had been when reading Dyre's romance, Secret Storm. But the tone of this story had taken an unexpected turn into an area she rarely associated with romance fiction. The anonymous liaison between two women, who had met for the first time in a bar where strangers gathered for no other purpose than to explore each other sexually, produced reactions Auden was at a loss to decipher. She'd never before considered sex reduced to only sensation without emotion, the physical with no greater context than sensual satisfaction.
In fact, she'd given very little thought to her own intimate relationships, or lack thereof, physical or otherwise. She'd dated but not seriously, and she'd never suffered from the absence of some deeper connection. At least not in a way that she'd wanted to explore too closely. She had friends, like Gayle, and a life that suited her. If something vital had indeed been missing, its absence had hovered on the edges of her consciousness where she had been able to ignore it by immersing herself in the routine of her daily life.
Now these books, these lives, these women had drawn her into worlds she'd never thought to visit. Their dreams and desires left her wondering why she had none of her own, Her reactions to the passion and intimacy she'd discovered in Secret Storm had left her in turmoil, but her reaction to this first encounter in Dark Passions unsettled her even more. She'd read the scene, in fact reread it, several times and was taken aback to find herself stirred both emotionally and physically. Not stimulated to the extent that the love scene in Secret Storm had excited her, but there was no question that she had been aroused by some of the images created by Dyre's words. That very fact confused her. If she had been asked, she would've answered categorically that such a scenario—sex without love, surrender without commitment—would never have stimulated her. Now she knew differently, and yet she could not fathom what that meant.
When she had fantasized, she'd imagined a lover's touch, but never a face. She'd envisioned connection, but never the kind of intense union she'd experienced in her dream looking into—
A knock on her open door caused Auden to jump in surprise. She turned, falling unexpectedly into Haydon Palmer's eyes. She caught her breath, her heart racing with sudden pleasure.
"Hello!"
"I'm sorry to disturb you," Hays said quietly. "I saw the light on in here."
"That's no problem," Auden said quickly. Her voice sounded breathless to her own ears. She indicated the sofa with a sweep of her hand. "Please, come in."
Hays carried a cup of coffee in her hand, and after a second of hesitation, she entered. She sat on the opposite end of the sofa, faced Auden, and smiled. "You look right at home."
Auden was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a Perm sweatshirt that had seen far better days. When she'd dressed earlier, she hadn't expected to see anyone else in the office. Hays, Auden noticed, was dressed far less formally than during the workweek as well, but even in jeans, a button-down cotton shirt, and low-heeled, square-toed black boots, she looked splendid.
"I feel at home, too," Auden replied, realizing just how much she meant it. She wasn't even certain why she'd come herself, except that she hadn't yet transferred many of her work files to her home computer. Once there, she'd gotten caught up in the manuscript and had forgotten all about work.
"How are things going?" Hays asked, surprised and pleased to see her new director. Three days' absence had not diminished her memory of how attractive Auden was. Seeing her now, relaxed and casually attired, Hays realized that she was truly beautiful.
"Very well, I think," Auden said with a small laugh. "Actually, better than I really expected at this early point." She wanted to ask Hays ho
w she was feeling but was acutely aware that that kind of question was inappropriate. The publisher looked much the same as when Auden had last seen her. Her complexion always had a slight pallor, but the shadows beneath her eyes seemed no deeper. Her dark eyes, too, were lustrous and clear. Auden realized she'd fallen silent and suddenly added, "I met with Liz Nixon yesterday afternoon. I like her. She has some good ideas."
Hays raised her coffee cup and nodded. She regretted having been absent for the interview. One of the most frustrating things about the illness was the inability to concentrate. It stole from her the one thing she valued the most, her ability to work. Frowning slightly, cradling the cup in both hands, she asked, "So, did you offer Liz the position as head of marketing for Destiny?"
"No," Auden said swiftly. "But I want to."
Hays laughed. "Then by all means, go ahead. I've talked with her several times, and if she seems like a good match to you, I'm all for it."
"I'm not entirely certain that Mr. Pritchard—"
"Don't worry about Abel," Hays said. "He has very definite opinions about almost everything, but in the end, the business is mine to run."
"I appreciate that, believe me. Nevertheless, I don't want to create conflict."
"Is there any?" Hays studied Auden's face intently.
"No, but I have a feeling that he isn't entirely pleased with me as your selection to head Destiny."
Hays grinned, an utterly disarming grin. "Abel doesn't see what I see in you."
Completely nonplussed, Auden blushed. "What is that?"
"Enthusiasm. Desire. Drive. The things that we need to make this work. I never wanted an overly experienced director, because too often they come with preconceived notions of problems. You don't have that. You're fresh and optimistic."
Auden wasn't certain how to reply. She certainly had never seen herself that way. Am I those things? It pleased her enormously that Hays viewed her so. "Thank you for that. So far, I'm loving every minute of it."
"Yes, 1 can see that you are," Hays said softly. And I can feel your enthusiasm. It fills the places that have felt empty for so long. Hays gestured to the pile of papers in Auden's lap. "What are you reading?"
Radclyffe - Love's Masquerade Page 7