by Leigh, Mara
Surrender
Fantasies Unleashed 3
by Mara Leigh
Deana likes to be in control. In her job, as a stage manager of a Las Vegas cirque show, she has to be. On a dare, her friends sign her up for Fantasies Unleashed. During her fantasy, Deana plans to prove she can give up control, but she’s not expecting Rex, a powerful man who’s determined to dominate their sexual encounter and push her to levels of ecstasy beyond her wildest imagination.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Mara Leigh
Cover design © Mara Leigh
Cover photo DollarPhotoClub.com
Digital edition 1.0
ISBN: 978-0-9938559-4-8
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.
Welcome
* * *
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Table of Contents
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Title Page
Welcome
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Note to Readers
Sneak Peek of Humbling the Boss
Titles by Mara Leigh
Chapter One
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Deana pressed the code into the keypad, and the door to the Las Vegas suite swung open. Venturing into the dimly lit room, she trapped her shoulder bag against her side, the buckle biting into her ribs. As the door clicked shut, a mountain of a man stepped forward.
She fought the instinct to step back, startled, even though she’d chosen the dark-haired man’s photo from several the agency had recommended for her fantasy. In person, his look bordered on dangerous.
“Deana, I presume?” His voice suited his looks—deep and thick—and his sculpted features had a rugged, muscular edge, as if his face had been forged from steel. Above intense brown eyes, commanding eyebrows darkened his expression, and his gaze bored into her, scorching hot, like he wanted her—for real.
He was a good actor. She’d give him that.
She accepted his offered handshake, and as his hand engulfed hers, scalding heat shot lightning straight to her belly. The man had big hands.
Trying to hide her reaction, she reclaimed her fingers. “And you’re Jake?”
“At your service,” he replied.
Service. A tremor traced through her. What was she doing? She never imagined she’d ever pay for sex, and certainly never for what she’d hired this Jake guy to do, but refusing to let doubt encroach, she casually strolled past him and into the luxurious room with its floor-to-ceiling view of the Las Vegas strip. Light from her Cirque show’s neon sign flashed through the window and painted her skin, as if it were taunting her, reminding her of the dare.
Adam and Gwen were wrong. Control freak? No way. She was simply good at her job. She stage-managed a huge production, with hundreds of artists’ and stagehands’ lives in her hands twice a day. Control was her job. It did not define her.
She turned away from the view and stepped toward a small sitting area. Past that, she spotted an armoire, a pretty Japanese-style screen, and a huge bed. On the far side of the bed lay a set of double doors. Was this a suite? The bedding was turned down, and she crossed the room to set her hand on the crisp, white fabric. As she bent forward, something brushed her neck.
She tensed. But realizing it was just her hair, she stifled a laugh and tucked the ponytail escapees behind her ears. Her nerves were worse than she’d expected. “What’s the agency’s refund policy again?”
“Deana,” he answered, “until you say the magic words, you have no obligation beyond your deposit. Would you like to leave?”
“It was just a question. I’m fine.” She ran her hands over her black jersey dress, which clung to her body like paint, wishing she’d worn something looser.
He nodded. “Do you remember what I need to hear before we begin?”
“Yes. ‘Let’s proceed.’ Right?”
“Are you saying it now?” Jake’s voice seemed steeped in heat—like he thought it could melt her. It was working.
“I’m...”
“There’s no rush,” he said. “Take your time.”
“I’ll say it again—when I’m certain.” Who was she kidding? She was all in. She never backed down from a challenge—ever—and she couldn’t lie to Adam and Gwen and pretend she’d gone through with this fantasy. That would be cheating, plus they knew her too well.
She banished her second thoughts by reminding herself that nothing about this was real.
Jake, if that was his real name, worked for a place called Fantasies Unleashed, and the company name said it all. This was a fantasy, pure and simple, and despite the nature of the encounter she’d purchased, she was the one in charge. She was the customer. She held all the power. There was no reason for nerves. She wouldn’t really be giving up control.
Composure restored, she watched as Jake undid his leather jacket, releasing the buttons one by one. His fingers worked purposefully, leisurely, like the overture to a striptease, and when the jacket slipped off his shoulders to fully reveal his shape, her gaze roamed over his broad chest, his tapered waist and hips, and the promising bulge in his jeans. Even clothed in denim and a tight black t-shirt, Jake could have walked off the cover of a men’s fitness magazine or the set of a Hollywood action movie. And unless the agency had Photoshopped his profile pics, his cock was fully proportional.
It didn’t take much to visualize this man naked beneath her; to imagine how the intensity in his eyes would deepen; how the veins in his neck and temples would rise and throb; how his chest and shoulders would flex; or how his strong lips would grimace as she rode him to her climax. She knew how to take her pleasure and still please a man.
Her insides clenched; she was already wet. The prospect of sex with this stranger was an incredible turn-on. Way better than she’d expected.
“Do you mind if I get comfortable?” he asked.
Her gaze snapped from his body to his face. “Yes. No. Sure. Fine.” Heat surged in her cheeks. What was wrong with her? She sounded like a timid kid.
“Do you have any questions?” He hung his jacket in the sleek armoire.
She crossed her arms to hold herself together. “Was my script specific enough?”
“Oh, you were very specific.”
“And I presume you studied the storyboard I prepared?”
“I did.” He looked back over his shoulder, his expression amused.
What was so funny? “What’s the best way for me to feed you cues or directions?”
“Deana”—he took three long strides
toward her—“I’ll be giving the directions.”
“Yes, of course.” He was already in character. Good.
While the fantasy unfolded, Jake would be playing a role she’d created, following a script she’d developed, and yes, his character would be “in control”. Being submissive in sex—in anything—was so not her, but she’d try almost anything—once.
That Adam and Gwen thought she couldn’t pull this off was beyond insulting.
“Are you clear on your safe words?” Jake asked. “Both hard and soft?”
“I vote for hard, not soft.” She winked.
A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “I need to know that we’re clear,” he said. “Use your soft word, and I’ll lower the intensity. The hard word is only if you want this to stop.”
“I understand,” she said. “Pudding is my soft word and banana is hard, right?”
He nodded, and again, she swore he was fighting a grin. She and her friends had chosen the words as a joke when they’d filled out the agency’s questionnaire. The three of them had nearly lost it over that part of the form.
She leaned against the back of a white sofa. “Great. If you go off-script, or I want to switch things up, I’ll toss out a ‘banana’ to put things on pause. I assume you have some improv training?” His profile stated he had experience as an actor. Probably porn. Did men this hot do porn?
“Deana.” He stepped even closer. “That’s not what your safe word is for. Either of them. I can’t fulfill your fantasy if I follow your script. You can’t lose control if you’re in control.”
She pushed off the edge of the sofa. “Look, Jake. I’m the client, remember?” She’d carefully mapped out this fantasy, and now that she’d seen Jake, she was growing anxious for it to begin. “It’s my fantasy. You need to do what I want.”
“I know what you want.” He took another step forward, his massive frame invading her space. “What you really want.”
Trapped against the sofa by his powerful presence, his heat, his spicy scent, she felt desire race through her body, joined by something else. Something akin to fear.
This isn’t real, she reminded herself. But under his burning gaze, the idea of not knowing what to expect—of him doing what he wanted, when he wanted—smashed through her psyche, threatening to break her down.
Calm, her most loyal and steadfast soldier, deserted. Court martial to follow.
“Deana.” His tone softened. “It’s not too late to change your mind. If you don’t want to do this... ” He softly laid a hand on her shoulder. “You need to say the line again, before I formally respond and begin.”
His sudden tenderness, his ability to recognize her apprehension, whipped her emotions into a confused frenzy. Today was supposed to be a game, impersonal. Using kindness against her wasn’t fair, and she hated that he’d seen her momentary weakness.
She glared at his hand on her shoulder. He removed it, and her skin went cold with the absence. But there was no chance she’d let him do a single thing that she didn’t want. “Listen, Jake. Either I have a safe word, or I don’t.”
“You do,” he said. “But you can’t use it to direct me. Not if you want your fantasy fulfilled.”
“But you will follow my script—”
“You need to trust me,” he said. “Once we begin, you should only use the safe word if you can’t take the pain.”
Pain? She took a step back, bumping into the sofa. She’d answered no to pain. Or had she finally settled on the “somewhat interested” checkbox? Hindsight rebuked the fourth bottle of pinot they’d opened while completing the agency’s forms. She’d thought her answers redundant given the script.
Was Jake planning to spank her? She’d tried that once, and although her lover had done exactly as she’d asked, the experience hadn’t lived up to expectations. This fantasy probably wouldn’t, either. Few things did. Yet, held captive by Jake’s gaze, the thought of him spanking her was equal parts titillating and terrifying. “I guess a little pain is okay.”
“Don’t be scared. You have safe words for a reason.”
“I’m not scared.”
“If you say so.” He shifted, and the fabric of his jeans slid across his hips.
A stab of lust raced through her. Despite her apprehension, despite the uncertainty, despite the hint of danger, she wanted this. She wanted his huge hands all over her. She wanted to feel the heat of his body against her, under her, inside her.
But on her terms.
This shouldn’t be so difficult. The situation was a tad risky, sure, but she was an expert at controlling risks, at making quick calls when she had others’ lives in her hands.
Problem was: Tonight she wasn’t the one calling the cues.
Tonight it was her turn to swing on the trapeze—to fly through the air and trust someone else to make sure the set pieces were in place. Her stomach was already taking the plunge, as she said the magic words: “Let’s proceed.”
“As you wish,” he responded, and the danger in his eyes returned full force. Every nerve in her body buzzed.
The curtain was up. They were no longer client and fantasy facilitator, but players on a stage. A stage where he’d landed the role of dictator.
Going off-script from the start, he grabbed her waist, pulling her forward. Caught off guard, she teetered, supported only by his hands, and her face fell against his chest. He radiated testosterone and power.
She set her heels down, but the instant she regained her balance he turned her around, her ass against his upper thighs. Shit. Was he planning to bend her over and fuck her right now?
She was okay with that.
“Get changed,” he commanded. “Your outfit is back there.” One hand on her belly, the other reaching over her shoulder, he pointed to the screen. Its artwork was richly painted in pinks, reds, and grays. “You have five minutes. Be ready.”
He was supposed to remove her dress at the beginning of scene two. She opened her mouth to protest, but closed it. Trapeze, Deana. Time to let go and swing.
She stepped behind the screen, and a motion-activated lamp came on to reveal a dressing area with a three-way mirror and a chaise lounge, lushly upholstered in white velvet. A bizarre costume lay at its end. Surely he wasn’t serious.
She lifted the black bra—if you could call it that. More like leather-padded underwires held up by strips of red lace. Metal chains hung from the lace straps. The whole look was very goth, or was it punk? Definitely slutty.
“Why am I dressing to titillate you?” she asked. “Isn’t this supposed to be my fantasy?”
“Get dressed.” His voice was deep, almost a growl.
Her belly contracted. At work, anyone using that tone would be fired; if she heard it from a lover, she’d dump him; in an alley, she’d pull out her Mace. Now? The booming threat in his tone turned her on.
Be careful what you ask for.
She turned to face the screen. Damn. Given the back lighting, he could watch her undress in silhouette. Whatever. Especially if it helped get his cock up. Heat rose in her as she imagined him touching himself on the other side of the screen.
She slipped out of her dress and reached for the bra. It wasn’t like she’d ever have a chance to wear anything like it again. After getting the clasps fastened, she blinked at her image in the mirror. The bra fit—they had asked for her detailed measurements—but it pushed her breasts up and together like no bra she’d ever worn, making her boobs appear twice their size. Plus it left the majority of her flesh and her nipples exposed. Not exactly like the sports bras she wore to work. She twisted to look from another angle and the chains grazed her skin.
Her breath hitched. The weighted chains swung when she moved, striking her nipples, making them hard. What a clever, clever bra.
She grabbed the panties—a thong of sorts, made of leather and glass beads. She slipped out of her third-date panties—their black lace now outed as conservative—and pulled on the strange garment. It fit snugly, clear
ly made for her, and she snapped the closure.
Below the leather band that encircled her hips, an open triangle formed a made-to-measure frame for her trimmed bush. The triangle’s lower point was attached to a double string of beads that joined a single string farther back, that parted her fully exposed butt cheeks.
She couldn’t decide whether the thong’s beads—some smooth, some rough—were meant to be inside or outside her labia. She shifted, and the beads slid against her growing-slicker-by-the-instant folds. Interesting. Adapting to the sensation, she bent to adjust the strands and tucked them inside. She straightened. One of the beads nudged her asshole.
Whoa. Did she get to keep the costume? Wearing it sure would make vacuuming more fun, and the thought of asking the costume department to rig one up was out of the question. Admiring herself in the mirror, she cupped her breasts, sucked in her gut, and swiveled her hips to enjoy the beads’ friction between her legs.
Running her hands down her body, she traced the line between the bra and panties. She looked hot. Not as hot as the show’s cast members, but between training and performances the artists worked out more than fifty hours a week. All she got was four or five hours at dance and Pilates. It wasn’t fair to compare.
“Time’s up,” Jake said. “Get out here, now.”
She spun toward his voice, and the chains’ weights struck her breasts again. Her cheeks reddened as her nipples peaked and the sensation shot straight down to her sex. She swung again, but her intentional swipes didn’t ignite the same fires.
Raising her hands above her head, she closed her eyes and danced—twisting, turning, letting the beads and chains go wild. Niiice. The chains brushed over her hardened nipples and the thong’s beads slipped and slid through her dampness. She ground her hips in a deep circle, and the leather triangle pressed against her clit.
Did she even need that Jake guy? With this outfit and a little help from her fingers, she could fulfill a few fantasies on her own. Too bad she hadn’t tucked a vibrator into her bag. Maybe she didn’t need one.