Welcome
to this month’s MFRW Steam blog hop! I hope you’re in the mood
for some hot romance, because we have got a double dose for you
today.
My
excerpt comes from my genre-bending BDSM erotic romance, The
Gazillionaire and the Virgin. Silicon Valley entrepreneur Rachel
Zelinsky (the gazillionaire of the title) is not a woman who lets pleasure interfere with business,
but when she meets reclusive genius Theo Moore, she can’t resist
his geeky appeal. Though Theo’s knowledge about sex derives from
extensive research and a stash of kinky porn rather than real-world
experience, he is Rachel’s first true Master—and the first man to
truly touch her heart.
In
this excerpt, Rachel has just discovered Theo’s interest in kink.
She has dragged him to the hardware store to purchase “supplies”.
Hope
you enjoy it! Leave me a comment and I’ll enter you in a drawing to
win an ebook copy in your choice of formats.
Home
Depot is bustling at noon on a bright California Sunday. Theo parks
in the most sparsely occupied part of the lot, a long way from the
door. I don’t chide him. I know he finds this difficult.
Once
more I take his arm—partly to reassure him, partly to keep him from
trying to escape. Together we wander through the cavernous store,
dodging DIY dads with pallets of construction materials and their
hordes of rowdy children. Theo cringes when they cross his path. I
pull him closer, pressing his arm against the side of my breast.
We
halt in the middle of an aisle. The rack in front of us holds a dozen
industrial-sized reels of different kinds of rope.
“Here
we are, Theo.” I keep my voice even and matter of fact, but my
heart is going like a jackhammer and my pussy is awash. “What type
of rope do you recommend?”
“Uh…
Rachel, do you mean…?” He searches my face, perhaps trying to
determine if I’m serious. “I—um—we—”
“Theo,
dear. You find sexual bondage exciting, right? You like the idea of
tying women up.”
He
stares at his athletic shoes, silent with shame.
I
hurtle onwards. It’s too late to stop now. “Given your
intelligence, I assume you’ve studied the question of what sort of
rope is most appropriate. I’d like you to share your knowledge.
Which rope should we buy?”
“What?”
His head whips up and his hair tumbles into his eyes. “What are you
saying, Rachel?”
I
can’t tell if his expression shows shock or arousal. Maybe both. I
swallow my own nervousness. “I want to buy some rope, so that you
can tie me up. Unless you already have supplies at home, of course.
Don’t want to waste money. Do you already have the rope we need?”
“No,
no—Rachel—no—I’ve never tied anyone up.”
“But
you want to, don’t you?” I lower my voice to a near-whisper.
“You’d love to bind me tight, so that I can’t move, then fuck
me hard. Isn’t that true, Theo?”
We’re
in the middle of a crowded home improvement store, surrounded by
oblivious vanilla families planning to remodel a bathroom or build a
deck. I don’t care. I wrap my arms around his solid frame and pull
him against me, rubbing my breasts against his torso. His massive
erection prods my belly.
Theo
squirms against me. “God, Rachel—you’re going to make me come…”
“Good.”
On tiptoe, I flick my tongue over his earlobe then murmur, “I want
you to come, inside me. After you’ve trussed me up like the girls
in your magazines…”
He
surprises me with a hard, wet kiss, right there in the aisle where
anyone could see. Meanwhile his hands slide up the backs of my bare
thighs, under the starched shirt of his that I’m wearing as a
dress, which reaches almost to my knees. My suit was in no condition
to appear in public without a thorough cleaning. Of course I don’t
have any panties, either—I hadn’t planned to stay with Theo,
hadn’t planned any of this, in fact. So unlike me!
I
shudder, feeling exposed and vulnerable, when he cups my rear cheeks
in his big palms. He parts them, just enough to allow one long finger
to slip from behind into my drenched cleft.
My
knees buckle but he holds me fast, tight against his chest, still
probing my mouth with his tongue while his fingers dabble in my
pussy. Real fear flashes through me—what if someone recognizes me,
here in the heart of Silicon Valley? —then vanishes as he presses a
damp thumb against the pucker of my anus.
God,
he wouldn’t! Would he?
He
nibbles at the corner of my mouth, then licks along my jaw line to
the sensitive spot under my ear, making me squirm. “Nylon solid
braid, I think,” he says, his deep, low voice melting me into a
puddle of want. “Seven sixteenths of an inch. We’ll need at least
forty feet.”
I
totter backward when he releases me, grabbing wildly at one of the
steel shelves to stop myself from falling. He sniffs his fingers,
licks his lips and gives me a grin full of mischief. With his tight
jeans and that unruly black hair tumbling into his eyes, he could be
a delinquent teenager.
My
inner thighs are tacky with pussy juice. My clit’s still buzzing
from the casual brush of his fingertip. The sensation of imminent
invasion lingers like a ghost around my clenched sphincter. It’s a
struggle to breathe normally.
“Not
cotton? Or hemp?” I don’t really know much about rope. People at
The Ninth Circle tend to favor leather.
“Cotton
stretches too much. It’s hard to get the knots out. And although
hemp leaves quite lovely marks”—he leers at me like some cartoon
villain—“it really needs to be treated before you use it.”
He
turns his back on me, ignoring my arousal as he studies the display
of multi-colored cord. At least five minutes pass while he examines
each of the alternatives with annoying thoroughness. I fight down my
frustration. He’s supposed to be the one in charge, after all.
“This
one should be good.” Candy cane stripes spiral along the length of
the rope he has chosen. “The black would look amazing against your
skin, but the diameter’s too small, I’m afraid. It would do too
much damage.” A little scowl knits his forehead. “Actually, when
you look closely, they don’t have much of a selection here.”
“Well,
this is a hardware store, after all, not a sex shop. I’m
sure you can order any sort of rope you want, online.”
“And
pay three times as much for it, I’ll bet. Excuse me—hello?” He
waves at a member of the sales staff. “Can you help us? I want
forty feet of number twenty seven.”
The
guy in the orange apron spools out the rope, letting it coil on the
ground. I swallow the lump that rises in my throat. There’s an
awful lot there, or so it seems.
“Here
you go. You got something to cut it with?”
“Uh…
I hadn’t really thought about that.” All the authority drains
from Theo’s voice.
I
step into the breech. “We’ll take a pair of those shears.” I
point to a rack next to the rope-wound drums.
“Those
are really heavy duty, for cutting chain—” the salesperson
begins.
“That’s
all right. We might need something like that in the future.” I
shoot a conspiratorial glance in Theo’s direction, but he’s
staring at his shoes again. “You’ll package that and bring it up
to the checkout?”
“Sure
thing, ma’am. I’ll meet you up there.”
I
drag Theo toward the front of the store. He’s silent, distant, not
looking at me or at the cute blonde cashier. While she rings up our
purchases, he fiddles with the car air fresheners hanging near the
register. He doesn’t object when I pull out my credit card. I can
see that he’s floundering once again in a swamp of self-doubt.
He
does grab the bag though, which I appreciate since it weighs far more
than I would have expected. He strides toward his car with those long
legs of his, leaving me to hurry after him.
“I’ll
drive,” I announce when I catch up. “Give me the keys.”
“Don’t
tell me what to do.”
“But
you seem upset…”
The
alarm beeps and the door locks click open. “Get in, Rachel.”
He
focuses on the road, driving with detached precision. I keep quiet,
not sure how to handle this latest mood.
We
pull into the parking lot behind his condo. He kills the engine then
sits stiffly behind the wheel, making no move to get out.
He’s
hurting, I can tell. I wish I understood why. I place a tentative
hand on his solid bicep. He doesn’t shake it off as I feared he
might, but he doesn’t soften either. “Theo? What’s wrong? What
did I do now?” Had I offended him by taking charge of the
interaction in the store? Somebody had to…
“Nothing—nothing,
really. It’s not you, Rachel. It’s me. I just can’t do this.”
“This?
You mean the bondage? Of course you can.”
“Honestly,
I have no idea how to go about it. I’ve got no knowledge, no
experience. All I’ve got is a bunch of kinky porn.”
“And
excellent instincts.” I stroke his slightly stubbly cheek and turn
his eyes toward me. He looks desolate, lost. “You have to trust
those instincts, Theo.” I lean in to brush his obdurate lips with
mine. “I do.”
“You’d
trust a total amateur like me to tie you up? You’re crazy. I could
really hurt you.”
“We’ll
go slow. We’ll have a safeword. And we’ve got those humongous
shears to cut me free if necessary.”
The
faintest hint of a grin tugs at his lips. This time when I bend
closer to kiss him, he kisses me back. He cradles my breast as our
mouths meld, flicking at the nipple with his thumb. My lust comes
roaring back. The vicious pinch he delivers makes me gasp and moan.
By the time he releases me, I’ve soaked his shirt, not to mention
his car seat.
“You
really want this, Dr. Zelinsky.” It’s a statement, not a
question. His eyes are diamond-bright, diamond-sharp. He strips me to
my essential self.
I
nod. “Don’t you, Theo?”
He
licks those ripe, sensitive, boyish lips. “More than anything in
the world.”
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