By: Elizabeth SaFleur
Published by: Troll River Publications
When a man tells you who he is, believe him
Billionaire entertainment investor and resolute bachelor Derek Damon Wright learned at a young age women were trouble. Heâs unprepared for dancer Samantha Rose who walks into his thirteenth, Washington DC nightclub opening with an authenticity and passion for life that quickly rocks his jaded, albeit privileged, world.
Samantha, an aerial artist and dance studio owner, hasnât been lucky in love, and falling for the charismatic and Dominant Derek wonât draw her closer to her greatest dream of having a baby. Yet sheâs helpless to resist his charm and sophisticated world of private jets, Caribbean islands and the sexual pleasures of dominance and submission.
As their whirlwind romance progresses, past mistakes rise up to threaten their future. Only when they rely on each other for safe haven do they find the answer to their dreams.
âSamantha, dim the lights.â
She wasted no time clicking off the fluorescents in the ceiling. The tiny white fairy lights sheâd hung for ambience for her sexier classes remained on and bathed him in an eerily beautiful glow.
âWhen does your next class start?â
âHmm. Weâll make it work. Go to the silks. The red ones.â
They were her longest pair, the ends pooled in a crimson puddle before a mirrored corner and connected by a big hook from the turreted ceiling. She placed herself between the two hanging ends and grasped them to steady herself. Had she just asked him to tie her up, in her studio, when anyone could walk in at any time?
He grasped the fabric above her fist and yanked on them, hard, as if checking their hold.
âThey wonât come down.â
âI always check rigging.â His fingers slipped underneath her tee shirt and a rush of cool air hit her skin as he tugged down her yoga pants, taking her panties with them.
âDo I get to set any rules forââ
âNo.â While soft, his voice broached no negotiation.
She yanked her feet out of the bunched up pants and kicked them to the side. âItâs my studio.â
âItâs my dance. Anticipation is half the game. Wondering what will happen next. When the next touch will come. How it will come.â
âThis is a game?â
âEverythingâs a game. Now we need to address a few things. Answer your questions. I know you have them.â
âAbout bondage and stuff? Iâm kind of embarrassed to ask. Itâd be easier if you were a woman right now.â
âI anticipated that. I have someone for you to talk with. Christiana Snow-almost-Brond.â
âSeriously? Christiana? Iâd have never guessed.â One of her students was into BDSM. Who knew? Christiana only dropped into her classes occasionally. Perhaps sheâd missed some signs along the way.
âDonât let that innocent face fool you. Come to think of it, maybe you should ask me instead. I donât want you to get any new ideas without me.â
âNo, Christiana is a good suggestion. I will, if sheâs willing.â She could use someone to talk to who wasnât Derek. Now that sheâd entered this relationship with him, if one could call it that, sheâd go wherever he wanted to take her. She needed to know more about his lifestyle.
He cradled her cheek in one hand. âUntil then will you trust me?â
âGood. Weâll go slow.â He grasped the cane chair sheâd been sitting it earlier and placed it under the tent of the silks. After grabbing a handful of the red fabric, he motioned to the chair. âSit. Knees apart, ankles hooked on the chair legs.â
The intensity of his eyes drove out any lingering thoughts about his intentions. Derekâs turn to Dominant energized her libido like no man had ever. The unmistakable, dark edge in his voice, the way his eyes cleared and spine straightened, flipped a switch inside her.
The chair creaked as she lowered herself to the seat. Her position put her at eye level with his chest. Yet his cock straining against the fabric of his pants caught her interest. The memory of him driving deep inside herâand her raw thoughts about where else she wanted that thick cockâbroke free. She made a show of widening her legs, feeling every inch of the hard wood under her thighs. She circled one chair leg with one ankle. Then, the other.
He went to work.
While wrapping silk around each leg, heâd glance up occasionally to peer into her face. A second wrap with the fabric made her twitch. Watching his hands workâquickly and with confidenceâdrove more desire to places she rarely thought of while at work.
Oh, hell, her desire for him hadnât abated one ounce after last nightâs lap dance.
After heâd dropped her off, and gave her a kiss at the door that had numbed her lips, sheâd made it to bed on quivery legs. Sheâd barely gotten her clothes off and crawled into bed before she touched herself. Sheâd never have fallen asleep without doing so. Hell, she got off twice, each orgasm called up by merely picturing his face, imagining his hands and his cock doing wicked things to her body. Sheâd also woken with her hand between her legs.
Lordy, she turned into a nymphomaniac around this guyâonly without the pathology.
âYouâll tell me if this burns.â
He pulled the last wrap of fabric taut. She gulped when the chair screeched a little as he pulled it across the floor with the force of his wrap. Oh, sheâd burn all right and not just from the silks.
âSamantha?â He grasped the curved back of the chair and held up two gloves he must have scooped up from where sheâd tossed them. âHow do you feel about blindfolds?â
âThe blue ones would look better on me.â
âEager to try new things, I see.â
âWith you, I am.â She grasped her lip between her teeth.
He stepped backward. âI watched a Dominant in a club in Philadelphia go over limits with his submissive once. She listed five. No blood play, animals, sharing her, suspension and breath play. That was it, sheâd said.â He focused his eyes on her face. âHe then backhanded her across the face. Once her shock wore off, he asked her if sheâd developed any new ones in the last minute.â
Samantha sucked in a sharp breath. âNow youâre scaring me.â
âI meant to.â He put his hands on the back of the chair and leaned in so she could feel his breath. âI will never hit you. I donât hit women. But I must know what your limits areâall of them.â He straightened. âGiven how new this is between us, weâre going to go about this a little differently, starting with a âyesâ list. What are you hoping Iâll do? Then, Iâll surprise you with other things along the same vein.â
Oh, the things she wanted him to do. She squirmed, as much as she could bound to her creaky chair.
âSpanking?â he asked.
âBondage. How does it feel now?â
âBlindfolds?â He held up the two gloves heâd scooped up and tied them together.
âGagging?â He held up a third glove.
A pang between her thighs answered that one, so she only nodded. Sheâd never view her burlesque class the same way. In stripping, the dancer inched the glove off, finger by finger, prolonging the baring of skin, teasing the onlooker with the possibilities. Now sheâd only think about the way Derek fondled the satin between his capable fingers taunting her with how he might use them. To bind me. Gag me. Sheâd imagine the material stuffed in her mouth might mute the sharpest of her cries or if tied across her eyes all her senses heightening his touch, his maneuvering.
âGood start.â He circled the chair, pulling a wrist behind her. He tied one end of a glove around her wrist. âGive me your other hand.â After obeying, her two wrists slapped against one another in a rough tug.
Oddly, he didnât blindfold her but held one up in front of her mouth. âOpen. Youâre going to hold it between your teeth. If you drop the glove, Iâll stop everything.â
Writing erotic romance is the most fun Iâve ever had. (Well, except for the research.)
Many of my books are set in Washington, DC, where I lived and worked many years, running a public relations firm. In my PR career Iâve been fortunate to encounter or represent some of the cityâs powerful insiders. I write, tweet and post under my pseudonym, Elizabeth SaFleur, since my clients might be a little shocked at how their counselor spends her free time. Then again, perhaps theyâd fear they provided inspiration. (Iâll never tell.)
Today, I live in Virginia with my husband and furry child. Occasionally Iâm separated from my laptop to indulge in dance classes and visit wineries and hiking trails with family and friends. If there were a house fire, Iâd grab my dog, laptop and five foot-long, regulation, Sally Rand ostrich feather fans â in that order. (Hubby knows the way out.)
Iâm a member of the Romance Writers of America, Washington Romance Writers, and an ongoing student of fiction writing, as well as avid reader of general fiction and romance, especially the erotic kind.
If youâd like to connect elsewhere, please circle me on Google+ or connect with me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest or Goodreads.