Free Steamy Fiction! #FreeBook #BDSM #MFRWHooks

So I gave away a free book last week... I thought that this week I’d feature an excerpt from my perma-free story collection Crowd Pleaser. This novella-length book is a mixture of romance and erotica, more the former than the latter. You can download your free copy from Smashwords in your choice of e-book formats.

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/954307

The book used to be available on B&N and Kobo, too... but the censors have been busy purging my work. Out of more than 50 of my self-published titles, B&N now sells only three.

Hopefully you are more broad-minded...

This story, Reunion, is one of the most romantic in the collection. I hope you enjoy the snippet.

The Hook

From “Reunion”

Three years since I last saw him, and now his plane is late. I perch on the edge of the chair across from the American Airlines desk where he told me to meet him, tension winding me tighter with every moment.

It's always like this. My chest aches. It's difficult to breathe. My nipples are as taut and swollen as if he already had them wrapped in elastic bands. I try not to be distracted by the stickiness between my bare thighs. I glance at the arrivals screen. His flight has just landed. Ten minutes, fifteen at most, before I can expect him. I fill my lungs deliberately and try to slow my racing pulse.

I hover between joy and terror. It has been so long, too long. What will he think of me, the strands of gray in my hair, the new wrinkles? What will he ask of me? Will I be able to give him what he needs? I remember other reunions, too few, too short. No time for more than a few kisses, a few playful swats on my bared butt. I remember lying on his lap in Golden Gate Park, my skirt flipped up around my waist. I can precisely recreate my shame and my excitement. I recall slouching down in the front seat of his car in a dark, sweltering parking garage, while he unbuttoned my blouse and dabbled his fingers inside me, naming me as his slut. A few hours every few years is all we manage, a country and my marriage separating us even as our history and our fantasies draw us together.

Today will be different. I've booked us a hotel room, in this city where neither of us live. We have the entire day. My husband waits for me at home, while I wait here in the airport for my master.

I don't call him that to his face. He'd mock me, his voice bitter. “If I were your master, I'd simply order to you leave him and come to me, and you would.” He doesn't give me that order, although I suspect that he's tempted. He refrains, out of respect for me and my choices, or maybe in fear that his power over me is not as great as he would like to imagine. He spares us both, and I'm grateful, though now, waiting, burning to see him again, I almost wish that he'd put me to that ultimate test and take away the awful yearning that I feel when we're apart.

Every one of my senses is on alert, yet he manages to surprise me. I'm looking toward the gates. He comes from the other direction and calls to me softly. “Sarah.”

I start and then laugh nervously. When I stand up, my bag tumbles off my lap to the floor, toys clattering inside. “You're here!” I feel clumsy, silly, stupid, but when he bends to kiss me, everything but the joy disappears. I'm flooded with it, gasping, overwhelmed.

In his limbs I feel his pitiless strength. His lips, though, are gentle, questioning. Am I still his? I melt, open my mouth and my mind to him. Does he sense the answer? Sometimes I am certain that he reads my thoughts. He laughs ironically and calls me suggestible. I don't know what to believe, which suits him perfectly. He wants me a bit off-balance.

I struggle to act normal, as if I were just meeting an old friend. “How was your flight? Did you have trouble with your connections? What about your baggage? Is that the only jacket you have? October here can be kind of chilly...”

“Hush,” he says, laying a blunt finger upon my lips. “Don't chatter. Take me to the hotel.”

We take public transit to the city center. The desk clerk eyes us curiously when we register, an odd couple, me so petite and my master so tall, checking into a hotel room at ten-thirty in the morning. I blush as the clerk hands back my credit card. “Have a nice stay,” he says, and I'm sure that I catch something conspiratorial in his tone. However, my master is already pulling me towards the elevator; I don't have time to worry about what other people think.

This hotel is more than a hundred years old. I selected it deliberately, hoping that it might offer some Victorian style, but the room is fairly ordinary—no four-poster bed, no fireplace, no curtain fastenings that might serve double duty as attachment points for bonds.

There is, however, a fine wing-back chair next to the window, with a footstool. My master tosses his backpack in the corner and settles himself into the chair. He grins at me, and butterflies swoop through my stomach. “Well, Sarah. Alone at last.”

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop!

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