Caitlyn Willows's Blog, page 7
February 28, 2015
Staying Warm (Comfort for Writers)
I don't like being cold. I don't like being hot either, but I really don't like being cold. When the weather turns cold, I have a lot of problems keeping my feet warm without pain. While wearing shoes and socks might seem like the logical solution, it gets to be quite tricky for me. I work from a desktop computer, but I also write (create) from a laptop while nestled in my recliner. Having anything on my feet while in that recliner is out of the question. I have bone spurs, plantar faciitis, a bad knee, and fibromyalgia. Crazy as it sounds, the weave lines in socks cause me a great deal of discomfort that quickly leads to pain and nerve issues. I can't have anything pressed against my Achilles' tendon for the same reason. It's frustrating to say the least. This year my family came to my rescue. I wanted to share the links for what they bought in the hope they might benefit someone else.
My husband bought me a heated throw for my recliner. It keeps my feet and legs nice and warm. Wearing anything binding is no longer an issue. Here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008BF2OAU/
My son and daughter-in-law bought me the most comfortable shoes (made by Flexus). These are great for sitting at the desktop. Socks? No problem. These shoes keep my feet warm (but aren't water resistant) around the house, can be worn inside or out, and are nice enough to wear for errands. They have nice arch supports so the knee isn't compromised and they don't hit my Achilles' tendon. Here's the link (it says Fly Flot, but they're Flexus): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B002EAZ1D0/
Caitlyn
February 27, 2015
Starting Over
Why does this happen? Well, it could be you haven't had the experiences in life necessary to carry out your wonderful idea. Or maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. Or...and this is a sticky one...maybe you have a deep-seated fear of failure or success that's holding you back. Maybe YOU are holding you back.
We all have those sticking points in life. Those places where we want to move forward or we feel we should move forward, yet we remain frozen in place. What do you do?
Research and inform yourself. If there's something that interests you, learn more about that thing. The Internet is a good source of preliminary information. See what's involved first, then go from there. This is especially important to do if your wonderful idea keeps nagging at you. Again from my own experience, if you keep coming back to that wonderful idea, you must research, inform and then take steps to pursue. That's how I earned my Doctorate in Spiritual Healing. It kept nagging at me. I researched, took a chance, and there you go. More telling is the experience of my friend author Barbara Clark, who at age 78 decided to take up karate. Two years later, she's halfway to her black belt, she no longer needs a cane, her coordination has improved immensely...and she's the happiest I've ever seen her.
The bottom line is this... Life's too short to not try something you've always wanted to do. Think about it. What's the worst that can happen if you try? That you discover it really wasn't for you, after all. What's the worst that can happen if you DON'T try? That you'll spend the rest of your years wishing you had.
Life is to be lived and experienced. Go for it.
Caitlyn
February 4, 2013
New Release - Oliver by Caitlyn Willows
OLIVERby Caitlyn Willows
Contemporary - Erotic Romance - Menage - BDSM
January 2013
Cover Artist - Ginny Glass
Loose IdISBN 978-1-62300-185-8
The last persons Oliver ever wanted to see were Merideth and Lucas. How fitting they've come crawling to him for help. It's the perfect opportunity to extract a little payback and toss their scattered hearts back in their faces as they did him. Yet, one look at his broken Merideth elicits more sympathy than he can bear.
Lucas had forgotten how much he enjoyed being in Oliver's orbit. Yes, he'd come to him to help Merideth heal emotional scars, but now he's determined to re-establish ties with Oliver. This is where he intends to stay…if Oliver doesn't throw him out first.
Merideth needs them more than life itself. Only they can help her recover from an attack that left her physically and emotionally scarred. It'd be so easy to lean on them and let them take full control…and never find her true self again. Only she can unleash her inner Domme and punish those who prey on others. Then will she finally be a woman to match the men she loves.
They burn hot together just as they had before. Each older and wiser than before, strong wills tempered by maturity. Old habits though…and there can only be one true Master.
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RELATED STORES ARE:
Maneater
Soleil
Raven
Oliver
Oliver Holbrook sank into the heated brown marble bench custom-made to cradle his ass. A twist of his wrist turned on the shower. With the touch of a button, he could adjust the showerhead’s direction, the spray pattern it emitted, and the water temperature. Wealth had its privileges. This was one of them.
His cock lifted higher when the gentle warm water cascaded over him. It knew the ritual. Everyone should have a well-trained penis.
Oliver snickered at the thought. As if that could ever happen. The beasts had minds of their own. His was no exception; he’d just managed to learn to control it over the years. The people under him, those who held him in such high regard within the community, would be stunned to learn the extent to which he’d gone to master that control. He didn’t care to enlighten them. It was no one’s business but his.
He filled his palm with soap from the array of dispensers on the wall, lathered it to billowing suds, then wrapped one hand around his cock and shoved the other between his legs to knead his balls. This was how he started each morning and ended each night…unless, of course, he’d found a stunning woman to share his bed. And that was becoming more of a hassle than it was worth. Few saw beyond the trappings of his life or cared about the man inside. That was fine. It helped protect his heart. A higher priority didn’t exist. Guarding his heart underscored most of what he did. Oh, he had those he loved, but it was love Oliver avoided like the plague. Once burned…
He spread his legs and let the soft spray kiss his thighs. Eyes closed, he imagined a lover’s tongue flicking up his legs and tugged at his balls while he flashed his fist over his cock. It wouldn’t take long—it never did—but it relaxed him for the night better than all the booze in the world. Conversely, morning jerk offs energized him.
Fantasies danced through his head, urging him to stroke faster, harder. Images not of the bondage and discipline that were so much a part of his life, but of lace gloves and high-neck gowns that begged to be peeled away to expose the smooth skin beneath. Of corsets straining to be unlaced, and breasts longing to be freed into a lover’s waiting hands and lips. Of long, thick hair that felt like watered satin threaded through his fingers when he unleashed it from its pins. Hair color was irrelevant.
Oliver imagined the woman’s gasp, the blush that rushed her cheeks, that shy tilt of her head when she offered her neck, then her throat, and finally a taste of the rise of her breast. Maybe he’d paddle her at some point, tell her what a naughty girl she was. Because he did love watching a woman’s ass turn rosy red under a good spanking, loved peeling panties down and smelling her arousal, loved adding to the smacks until she writhed and begged to come.
Oliver plunged into his grip and growled as he came. He sprawled there in the aftermath, pretending again that the shower spray was a lady’s fingers feathering over him, bringing him back down to earth. He closed his eyes, too relaxed to move at the moment. But as the wonder of masturbation faded, the sense of something not right rushed in.
No security alarm. No sound over the water. But he never second-guessed his instinct. On alert, Oliver shut off the shower, slid open the glass door, and grabbed one of the Egyptian cotton towels off the crystal bar a hand grasp away. Underwear would have made him feel less vulnerable. A weapon would have been even better. He blotted the water from his body and extended his senses outward.
There it was—a hint of fragrance from the blooming sage that hugged the rear perimeter of his home. Desert monsoons had brought the bushes and other dormant plants to life. The scent never permeated his house unless someone opened a door or window. During August in Palm Springs, that happened as little as possible. And it never happened at night with the house secure and the alarm set. Someone was in his house. Someone who’d somehow managed to override or disable the security system.
Oliver’s adrenaline spiked. His heart raced. Just as quickly he ordered himself to calm. He could count on one hand the people who’d have the code. Any of whom might decide to take advantage of his open hospitality—if they hadn’t left mere hours before.
He missed them. Julia, Lori, and Rachel had been a big part of his life for so long. Not that he begrudged them their happiness. Hell, he’d been instrumental in seeing them get hooked up with the men they loved. But it wasn’t the same without them or their alternate Domme personas— Maneater, Soleil, and Raven—around. Maybe one of them missed him too. Missed him so much she’d come back.
He mentally shook his head. His visitor wasn’t one of the ladies or anyone else he might welcome. This was an intruder.
Oliver tied the towel around his waist. His cell phone was on a dresser that felt miles away rather than a mere twenty feet. There was also a dedicated landline with extensions throughout the house, one right by his bed. Again too far. If an intruder disabled security, he might have cut the house phone as well.
Oliver debated his options. Grab the cell, duck into his walk-in closet, and retrieve a handgun from the safe? Or lock himself inside the closet and call 9-1-1? He opted for the latter…with his gun in hand just in case.
Years ago, he would have cringed at the thought of hiding from danger. He’d definitely gotten smarter over the years. One picked one’s battles with care.
Slow steps took him to the door leading to his bedroom. Soft yellow light from the bedside lamps glowed in invitation. He’d set the stage for sleep: turned down covers, fluffed pillows, placed a book on the nightstand. Another nightly ritual. The book was gone.
At that realization, Oliver heard a page turn. To his right. The corner where he’d placed two chairs and a table—another cozy niche in his little cave. He edged forward and saw the glow from the lamp in that area.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a murderer.”
It took a few seconds for Oliver to process the familiar voice, one he hadn’t heard in years. Lucas Ashmore.
“I noticed you didn’t say you weren’t a thief.” Oliver stepped into the room. Sure as shit, Lucas shot him a smile from the corner chair. He’d made himself quite comfortable with the book and a glass of whiskey from the living room bar. Scotch, if Oliver remembered correctly. Oliver remembered too much.
“Cat burglar, please. One sin of a misspent youth. Show a little respect, Oliver.”
He snapped the book closed and stood in one fluid motion. Evidence of the feline grace that always landed Lucas on his feet. He was more dressed for the rumba than breaking and entering, with tan pants and shirt that skimmed his skin but let him move with ease for all those tight places he might find himself. The clothes also helped him blend in with the Palm Springs crowd. It was the perfect disguise…as always.
The years had been kind to Lucas. Oliver would give him that. His blue eyes were just as bright, and the small laugh lines bracketing his eyes and mouth added maturity and character, not age.
Oliver itched to double-check his face in the mirror for signs of aging. To measure himself against Lucas.
“Vanity, thy name is Oliver.” He heard Merideth’s taunt, the one she’d always say when the three of them were together.
“You’re one to talk,” was always his retort.
“A rose is a rose,” Oliver replied. “And so are its thorns.” He took an imposing stance, his best Dom scowl in place.
A haunting sense of déjà vu struck him. This was how they’d first met. That long-ago night, when Lucas had broken into Oliver’s home and interrupted killer sex with Merideth. They’d toyed with him that night, intending to scare him straight. Who knew it would bond them so tightly in love and lust? Or that they would wind up tearing each other apart years later?
Uncertainty replaced Lucas’s smile. He took another sip of Scotch, his gaze locked on Oliver’s. Was he remembering it all too?
“I have nothing that might belong to another, even remotely,” Oliver told him. “I have no jewelry to speak of, no prohibitively expensive artwork or sculptures. Most of those are from friends and associates I support. You’d get little from their sale. The loss to me would be sentimental. The loss to—”
“I’m not here to take anything.”
Lucas sounded wounded that Oliver would think such a thing. Even Oliver had to admit it was a low blow, referring to that single incident too many years ago when Lucas had first walked into his life. Lucas’s actions had been borne of desperation and necessity. Still, Oliver couldn’t let this one go.
“What the hell else would you expect me to think? Sneaking into my home in the middle of the night, breaching my security system.”
“Ten thirty is hardly the middle of the night. Besides, would you have seen me otherwise?”
“No.” Oliver turned away and walked to the closet so he could dress. Lucas was one of the last persons Oliver ever wanted to see. He heard Lucas rattle the ice cubes in his drink.
“Would it help if I told you I knocked?”
In a house this size? “Unquestionably polite.”
“It serves me well.”
Paid well too. Lucas was dominant enough to pursue, submissive enough to concede, crafty enough to find the middle ground where everyone thought they’d won. The go-to man when museums wanted to acquire items or return antiquities to the countries where they belonged.
“Yes, you’re quite the hero. But we both know you didn’t start out that way.” Oliver hauled on a pair of gray silk boxers, then followed them with a pair of white shorts and a salmon-colored brushed-silk shirt.
“Ancient history,” Lucas called out.
Let it go. “So you’re here. I’m sure this isn’t a social call. What do you want?”
“Merideth needs you.”
The unexpected words jolted Oliver. Thank goodness the privacy of the closet hid him from view. He recovered quickly and buttoned his shirt as he strode from the closet. “We’ve been down that road before. I couldn’t give Merideth what she demanded.” They’d torn each other’s emotions asunder reaching that conclusion. Even Lucas’s peacemaking couldn’t save them.
“In the end, neither could I.” Lucas drained his glass.
Oliver wanted to interrogate, dissect what Lucas meant. He wondered why he cared.
Lucas scrunched up his face in puzzlement. “You didn’t keep tabs on us?”
“I didn’t care enough to keep tabs on you.” A semi-lie. Word filtered to Oliver on occasion. Business was business, after all. It was the personal aspects of these two people he didn’t want to give a damn about.
“Fair enough.” Lucas conceded the point with a slight nod. “More ancient history as far as I’m concerned. But that was then, and this is now.” He set the glass down hard and stared at the cubes as if willing them to melt or generate more Scotch. “Merideth needs you.”
“She made it clear—”
“She was hurt, Oliver. Caught in the wrong end of a bad scene.”
The news sliced through him. Razor sharp, knife deep.
“Hurt?”
“I don’t know the specifics. A mutual friend told me. She took care of Merideth afterward. I’ve been out of the country. We haven’t been together for a long time.” Shaking his head, Lucas wandered over to the dresser and fiddled with the wooden bowl of coins Oliver dumped from his pockets each night. “It happened about six months ago. Whispers and rumors came my way. Though I’ve yet to find out who’s responsible. She’s not the same person. She’s…broken inside. Fearful, reclusive.” He swallowed hard. “To hear of a woman of Merideth’s strength and caliber reduced to…”
Oliver had a hard time reconciling that description with the woman he knew, the woman he’d heard about over the years. But something that traumatic would screw with anyone’s head. “She needs help.”
Lucas snapped his gaze up to Oliver’s. Tears filled his eyes. “Why the hell do you think I’m here?” he said through clenched teeth. “Do you think I’d come crawling to you otherwise? She’s breaking my heart!” He slammed his fist into his chest. “Again.”
Oliver bit back the words Now you know how I felt.
Lucas pulled in a breath. The tension eased from his jaw. “I went to her the minute I heard. She told me she needed you, to get you. I still love her enough to do it. I’m hoping you still love her enough to help her heal.”
A storm of emotions roiled through Oliver. He didn’t think any of them were love. Too much hurt was in the way.
“Where is she?”
“Where do you think?”
Irritation crawled up Oliver’s spine. Lucas had brought her with him. For a couple who needed his help, they were really pushing it.
Lucas stepped into Oliver’s space and touched Oliver’s arm. Oliver glanced at Lucas’s fingers, then at the man. A smoldering look to warn Lucas he’d gone too far.
“I’ll beg if I have to.” Determination edged Lucas’s voice. “Get on my knees before you. Submit. Hell…” He knelt before Oliver, glaring up at him. “I’ll even suck your fucking dick.”
Oliver smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Lucas could squirm a bit on that one. Frankly, there was only one mouth Oliver wanted wrapped around his cock right now. And the owner was apparently downstairs waiting.
December 14, 2012
New Release - Like There's No Tomorrow by Caitlyn Willows
LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW
by Caitlyn Willows
Contemporay - Erotic Romance - Contemporary
December 2012
Ellora's Cave
Hot, hungry and horny, Jim’s looking for a night of scorching no-name sex. Desperate to feel alive, Julia’s on the prowl for a hot, hard body before the Marine Corps sends her back to war. Who knew a one-night stand could be more than either of them ever hoped for? Or that they’d have such little time to enjoy it? Sometimes a person has to take a chance. Do something a little crazy. Live like there’s no tomorrow.
Publisher purchase linkAmazon purchase linkEXCERPT
“I need a name.” He had to have one. It drove him crazier by the second that she wouldn’t share it with him.
“For a drive-by, one-night stand? That was your intent, right?”
“Well…yeah. But I…” He couldn’t explain why it mattered. Hell, he didn’t know why it mattered. It just did. And what if she was a Marine? What about her rank? The whole fraternization thing? Fuck, he was going down for one rule-breaker after the other. But then, if she suspected he was a gunnery sergeant, she’d be on the watch for fraternization too. Maybe they were the same rank, or close, or…
“What are you calling me in your head?” Another naughty grin jerked his rambling thoughts to a halt. “Be nice now.”
“Little Red. Red.”
“Cute. Not very original, but it’ll do.” She took another bite.
And calling him Gunny was original? Subject closed. He let her win this round. The night was young and he was still horny. Getting hornier by the second.
Jim played out intelligent conversations in his head while they finished his burger then divvied up hers. Nothing scholarly came to mind. He was left with the basics.
Jim leaned back, one arm on the bench seat behind her, the other clutching the beer, ready to play twenty questions. One sip of his drink stopped him cold. He just couldn’t do it. He pushed the brew away, signaled the waitress, and ordered what he really wanted—wine.
“Make it two, please.” Red pushed her drink away too. “This lemonade isn’t working for me. And these drinks will be on me.” She scooted into the curve of his body. “That’s one pretense out of the way.”
“Speaking of which…”
She pressed her index finger against his lips. “No names, Gunny.”
It bugged the hell out of him. “All right.” For now.“Occupation?”
“Employed.”
“Come on, Red. Gimme something.”
She tickled her fingers down to his navel. “I’d hoped to give you a lot tonight.”
“You know me? Been here before? Have we met?”
Her laughter felt like spring, all bright and warm after a long, hard winter. “No…to all of the above. This in my first time in here. And no, I’m not new in town.”
“So why tonight, here, me?”
“Goodness, so many questions.” She thanked the waitress for their wine, grabbed both glasses, and handed him one. “I came in here to meet a heartbroken girlfriend. She bailed. I was getting ready to leave and saw you looking all…needful. How could I possibly resist? Plus, I didn’t think a decent-looking guy like you deserved to get tangled up with any of this.” She waved her hand toward the other females in the bar.
“You do this often?” Now that was a nasty question, and Jim regretted it the second the words left his mouth.
Judging from the startled look in her eyes, the question had hurt. Red should have kneed him in the balls and taken off. Instead, those green eyes softened, settled on him…in him. “No. Never. Sometimes a person has to take a chance. Do something a little crazy. I needed. You needed. Good?”
Jim had thought so at first. “Yeah…good.”
Red rested her hot palm on his thigh and cuddled in close. “I like dogs, gardening and hiking. I’m a nerd and proud of it. Your turn.”
“Friends call me Rod.”
That brought snickers and a Spock-like lift of her eyebrow.
“Short for Roderick, my last name. First name’s Jim.”
“Preferences?” She sipped her wine. His eyes locked on to how her lips glistened afterward.
Jim honestly didn’t give a damn what friends called him. The nickname had also morphed into his work life, making him Gunny Rod. But from a woman he wanted more. He needed intimacy, especially from this woman.
He laughed to himself at the irony of it all. He’d come for a hook-up and here he was assigning more to it, needing more from it.
“Jim. As long as you don’t add any Star Trek reference to it.” Though he wouldn’t mind if she did.
“Jim.” She kissed him, soft and sweet. No tongue, just lips pulling at his. Tempting, not teasing. A nibble, a pull. As if he were somebody more than a desert-dried Marine who hadn’t been laid in six months.
October 9, 2012
Raven by Caitlyn Willows
RAVEN
by Caitlyn Willows
Contemporay - Erotic Romance - Menage - BDSM
October 2012
Cover Artist - Ginny Glass
Loose Id
ISBN 978-1-62300-029-5
Raven is ready to hang it up as a Domme and have an ordinary life. Trouble is, she wants and needs—all right, she craves—both a Dom and a sub in her life. The sub she already has; it’s the Dom that will be harder to achieve. Especially when the Dom she wants resents the fact that she’s the trustee of his estate and business…and that she did a brief stint years ago as his father’s Domme.
Ben never met a woman he wanted more than Rachel. He’s made sure over the years that his Sledge is more than a match to her Raven. Then the truth comes out, dowsing those fires that ran deep when they first met. Fires that refuse to be denied. Obstacles are tricky little bastards.
It’s a golden opportunity for Will to get the two people he cares most about in the world together...with him. Using a few skills of his own, this contented sub knows how to weave the threads that will bind them all as one. That’s when Rachel and Ben learn who's really in control. But will there be room for him once the flames ignite?
Excerpt:How was she supposed to sleep now? Not that Rachel expected she would in the first place.
She waited until Will was out, then eased from the bed, slipped on her satiny underthings, and wandered to the living room. She’d told him she’d stay the night. This news changed things. Plus, she’d had time to process everything else.
A businessman wouldn’t issue a demand for her to appear, not when he had everything he wanted in his grasp. A Dom…that was a different story. Ben wanted her, front and center. And Will was pushing her toward him. As for Oliver…
The three of them were in cahoots. Rachel had some strong words for Oliver the next time they were face-to-face. For now, she had to decide how to deal with this. Going home was always an option. Traffic this time of night would be light. She could be in her own bed in less than two hours, still not sleeping, and still wondering if Sledge/Ben was everything she’d ever heard about and wanted.
Rachel plopped into the oversized chair and hugged her knees to her chest. He’d be perfect for you.Not words she’d wanted to hear. She wanted to remember how Ben had glared at her over the table at the reading of the will, not how her heart raced when she’d first laid eyes on him. Or how she’d tingled at the mere mention of Sledge. Distance and walls had worked well. She was free and clear of all obligations.
Damn you, Oliver.He’d known all along her interest in Sledge, her want of Ben.
Rachel could damn Oliver all she wanted, but she was the one who’d allowed him to play her. To feed her need to face Ben Welsh one last time…just to make sure he wasn’t as yummy as she remembered.
He’d be perfect for you.
Damn Will too.
Rachel clicked her nails against each other while she pondered her next move. Home or…what? This was ridiculous. She was a Domme, for crying out loud, yet she sat here paralyzed with indecision.
What was it that Will had said? That she’d always had the advantage. What the hell did that mean? She was half tempted to wake Will up and demand more information.
Rachel forced herself to shove that annoyance aside for the moment. There were more pressing issues to deal with. Ben decreed she’d stay at his house. She hated the place, always had. But…so be it. He’d learn quick enough to be careful what he wished for.
She crept back into Will’s room for her clothes and suitcase. She dressed as quietly as possible, one eye always on Will. He woke before she could wrap her fingers around the suitcase handle. The man had always been a light sleeper.
“Do you want me to go with you?” he mumbled from the depths of his pillows.
“I can handle this.”
“Play nice.” He rolled to his back and onto his elbows. “I don’t want to get caught in the middle of something.”
Rachel arched her brow with her smirk. “Really? I thought that’s exactly where you wanted to be.” She covered her hand over a feigned gasp. “Oops, sorry. You want me in the middle of you two.”
The sheet tented at his lap. Her work here was done.
“Sleep tight, love.”
Will had the good sense not to try to stop her or follow. If she had any sense, she’d head for home and not pick up the gauntlet thrown in her path. After all, she had nothing to prove. She was Raven. It was Ben’s demand that got under her skin, coupled with Oliver’s subtle manipulation and Will’s “by the way” suggestion after their playtime. She was Raven. They were all about to learn a lesson they’d never forget.
For all her bravado, though, Rachel’s hands were sweaty by the time she pulled into the long driveway leading to the sprawling mission-style home that had been in the Welsh family since Ben’s grandfather’s time. It was a hideous attempt to reproduce Spanish aristocracy. She found the inside of the manse dark and depressing, a horror movie waiting to happen. Staying here put her at a disadvantage. She wondered if Ben knew that.
Outside, though, was a different matter. A lure to the world. A here-I-am vista his grandfather had built to flaunt his success. Despite the lush greenery and greenhouses that surrounded the house, the bright white building with red tile roof stood out day and night. That, and the vineyards that rolled across the hills behind it. Sunlight brightened the sprawling two-story home during the day; security lights at night gave it a lush allure. The house sat tucked away from the bustling city at its feet. A reminder of her brief time as Roger’s Domme. A reminder of a man she couldn’t get out of her mind, no matter how hard she’d tried. A man waiting just ahead.
Her headlights swept the front windows as she pulled to a stop on the cobblestoned drive. One side of the double oak doors swung open before she could cut the engine. The security system would have alerted Ben to her arrival the minute she pulled into the driveway and through the open wrought-iron gates.
Ben stood on the threshold, dressed only in jeans. The light cast his muscles in shadow, defining every one. Long arms bracketed him in the doorway. His brown hair was tousled. Sweat glistened on his chest. Everything she remembered and more, with the brooding intensity and dark-eyed gaze that were Sledge’s trademark.
Rachel refused to allow him to intimidate her. She dropped her gaze to his crotch and the erection stretching the confines of his worn jeans. She could draw him closer, fish his cock out for her pleasure, and give him the blowjob of his life. Show him who was really in charge. A real Dom wouldn’t let her get away with it. Well, she’d see if all the rumors were true. God, she hoped so.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, cut the engine, and slipped from the car with an elegance born of countless years of practice. Because she sure as hell didn’t feel the picture of calm inside. Ben swept his gaze down her body, setting off more shivers Rachel struggled to hide.
“I understand you’ve extended your hospitality to me.” Slow steps brought her closer. It was impossible to muster sultry in sneakers. One mark against her. “How could I possibly refuse?” She waved her arm toward her car as she approached. “Be a dear and fetch my suitcase.”
Fire flared in his eyes, sending another jolt through Rachel. She held her ground, but barely.
Ben blocked her passage. “I expect a please with that order, Miss Moore.”
It was the “Miss Moore” that did Rachel in. That subtle, firm, yet strict, cultured tone delivered with precision that told her she was dealing with a true Master. There were a thousand ways she could have responded, but only one would get her what she wanted…needed.
“Please.”
* * * *
The barely whispered word empowered Ben in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat, begging to be licked. There was a slow plunge along her neck as she swallowed.
She was more beautiful every time he saw her. Even more so this close, making her better than any masturbatory fantasy could ever hope to be. Long black hair, dark blue eyes, and a button nose. Plump lips.
He cursed the rise that relentlessly stirred below his belt. He needed control. Having a steel pike of an erection wasn’t going to help. But a man had needs, and Rachel had an allure about her that couldn’t be denied. He’d known that from the minute he met her.
Ben pushed away from the door, allowing her access to the house. She didn’t move until he brushed by her on his way to her car. He swore he saw goose bumps sprout on her arm at the contact. Her reaction played havoc with Ben’s control. He wanted to press her beneath him on the nearest flat surface, wrap her legs around his hips, and hump her through their clothing. His obsession added to the blood threatening to split his erection.
It grated on Ben’s nerves, frustrated the hell out of him. He could deal with it to some extent when there was the physical and legal distance between them. Now that he’d seen her again, reconfirmed how pretty she was, how great she smelled, he wanted her more than he could stand. The fact that she’d essentially turned her nose up at him this past year made it all the worse. Ben wanted to haul her over his knee and teach her a few manners, show her he was every bit her equal, dip his fingers between the wet heat of her thighs. Right here. Right now.
Rachel burrowed under his skin with every second he was near her. It didn’t help that she smelled like blackberries ripe from the bush. She made him nervous, antsy…horny as hell. Why did she have to be so damn pretty? All he could think about was Will and his monthly fuck breaks to see her. All he could think about was how jealous it made him, how much control she had over his life, how she’d been an intimate part of his father’s life and he hadn’t realized it until the very worst possible time—when he was pondering ways to get her into bed. All he could think about was peeling those figure-hugging jeans off her hips and…
He hurried to her car to retrieve her luggage. When he returned to the house, she’d gone no farther than the foyer. She hugged her midriff while she glanced around. The cathedral ceiling and sweeping staircase dwarfed her. For a minute she looked lost, until she realized Ben stood nearby watching. Her shields slipped back into place. Ben didn’t much like it either.
“You’re even more petite than I recall.” He set her suitcase on the brick-red Spanish tile near her feet.
“I might be little”—she leaned forward and grabbed her luggage—“but I’m mighty,” she finished in a deadly whisper.
The words and the promise they held coiled inside his body.
“If you’ll kindly tell me where I might find my room…”
“One would think you’d have the layout of the place memorized.”
“One would.” She sniffed, princess-like. Another dig under his skin. “Far be it for me to be presumptuous. After all, this is your home.”
“That it is, Miss Moore.” A house he could barely stand, historic as it might be. It was dark and depressing, heavy with furniture an elephant couldn’t budge. It was great for business…and pleasure, but the over-the-top attempt at Spanish mission was too much to live in. This place echoed, was too large, too cold. The only sign of life within these black-and-red walls was his father’s playroom tucked away behind the wine cellar. Ben had made the guest house by the pool his home long ago. It was where he’d stayed when he visited his father.
“Did you have sex with my father?” The question, bottled up too long, shot out of him. Rachel actually jerked from the impact. Good, he’d caught her off guard. She recovered quickly, though, releasing her hold on her suitcases. He could see her pulling in threads of control. Ben swore she stole them from him.
“As a fellow Dom, you know the answer to that—”
“Did you?” Ben wasn’t in the mood for games.
“No.” Her nose twitched, like he’d been dismissed. “Our relationship was business and very brief.”
“You have sex with Will.” And it bugged the shit out of him sometimes, only because he couldn’t.
“Our relationship isn’tbusiness.”
“But it was.” He stalked around her, monitoring her reactions, breathing in her scent, soaking in her heat.
“At one time.” Rachel didn’t budge, but her eyes followed his every move.
“But it changed.”
“Yes.”
Ben stopped behind her, close enough to let her know he meant business, far enough away to keep her from taking over, from knowing he was hard as marble. “Why?” he demanded.
Rachel looked around and lifted those deep blue eyes to him. “Because I wanted him.”
“I see.” He passed a slow gaze over her features, looking his fill while her skin flushed and his mouth watered. “You aren’t the only one known for their control, Miss Moore.”
“Until a few hours ago, I was unaware you had any control to…master.”
Was she telling him he had her at a disadvantage, or that she’d never considered him a worthy challenge? Ben began his slow pace around her again, trying to cover his indecision, and stopped in front of her. Judging from the gleam in her eyes, it was too late. She’d seen the weakness. He had to act quickly to salvage this. Ben wasn’t going to let her go now that he was so close.
“Just how mighty are you, Miss Moore?”
She closed the gap between them, coming within inches of slithering against his body. “Very, Mr. Welsh. Would you like a demonstration?” The whispered words kissed his lips.
“I expect much, much more than that.”
“We’ll see.” Rachel gave a small laugh and patted his solid chest. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll show you what I’ve really got.” She was playing with dynamite and looked like she loved every second.
His smile was slow in forming as he leaned her way. “And if you’re a good girl, Miss Moore, I might even participate.”
“I look forward to that,” she softly replied.
Ben acknowledged the agreement with a nod. “Then by all means…let’s go.”
He sidestepped her and led her through the drawing room, the dining room, and the kitchen, then down the stairs to the steel-reinforced cellar. His insides shook. He half stumbled, head buzzing, his body urging him to hurry the fuck up.
Fuck. He dug his nails into his palms. The pain did nothing to wipe out the image of her warring with him. He couldn’t tell which of them had won the skirmish for control, because there was nothing controlled about the way he felt now. He wanted to…
He wanted her, plain and simple. Ah, hell. She’d be like a drug he couldn’t get enough of. Maybe she already was.
The wine cellar opened up to an innocuous oak door set in the concrete wall. Locked against the world, with only a trusted few possessing the key.
He turned to face her. She stood with her hands clasped, midnight-blue eyes monitoring his every move and expression. “I presume you’re ready, Miss Moore?”
A barely perceptible gulp plunged down her throat. Ben closed the distance between them and cupped his hand around her neck. Rachel’s lips parted, ready…expecting a kiss. It killed him not to give her one, but he knew one taste of her mouth and he’d be fucking her six ways to Sunday.
He burrowed his face into her neck, just below her ear, and licked down the column while he breathed deep. She trembled and crawled her fingers up his torso. He clamped his hand on her ass and hauled her close enough to feel what she did to him. Torture was pulling away when she plucked at his nipple.
“Miss Moore.” He dismissed her with a nod.
Rachel stared up at him, mouth open, lips moist. A silent battle of wills ensued. Ben nearly caved. God knew, his cock begged him to. Electricity crackled over his skin, urging his jeans to drop and his groin to tighten. Then her long eyelashes swept downward in clear and unexpected submission.
He’d won. Victory felt like shit. Ben planned to make up for it later.
Those dark eyes peered up at him again. A flush covered her cheeks. He felt her heartbeat thud against his chest. A mask descended over her expression, Raven replacing Rachel.
Ben refused to give her the upper hand. He cupped her chin. “We are equals. Understood…Mistress?”
Rachel hypnotized him with the glide of her tongue over her wet lips. “That would be Lady Raven. Understood, Sledge?”
She ran her finger up his torso, then parked it at the base of his throat. Her eyes locked on that spot, her tongue licking another path over her lips.
“What shall it be? Whip play…or sex? Or both?” she finished in a whisper.
The words did things to Ben he knew were illegal in some parts of the world, even a few counties in California. He curled his hand around hers and drew it down to his thudding heart.
“I’m shocked you would ask.”
“Somehow I doubt that.” She slipped from his arms. “I left my bag of tricks at Will’s. I do hope you don’t mind me borrowing yours.”
“It would be my pleasure.” Ben realized his mistake too late.
Rachel grinned. “It certainly will be.”
Giving her his back, Ben unlocked the playroom. Rachel ducked under his arm and pushed the door open. She flicked on the lights and walked to the padded bench that circled this end of the vast room. Observers could slip in and watch the play on the other side. Of course, there were also those who preferred to watch in stealth, and they could be tucked on the other side of one-way mirrors banking the opposing wall.
Rachel made sure her ass was lifted high while she took off her shoes and socks. His to look his fill. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was daring him to do something. Fuck her. Spank her. Hell, he did know better…and the temptation was too hard to resist.
Ben sidled up beside her, pressed one hand to the small of her back, and smacked the other palm against her sweet ass. Most women would shriek in protest, jerk upright, flail—if only halfheartedly—against another swat. Rachel froze.
“You’re playing with fire, Mr. Welsh.”
“I do hope so, Miss Moore.” He landed another smack.
A low groan lifted her backside. “Oh, you’re going to have to do better than that if you hope to impress me.”
Ben chuckled. “Don’t worry. You’ll get everything you need, Miss Moore.” He dipped his hand between her thighs. “And more.”
Her knees buckled, and he swore he heard a tiny whimper. Sheer willpower was all that kept him from hauling her away for an all-night fuck. A woman like Rachel—like Raven—needed so much more than that. If he expected to keep her…
Ben jerked at the errant thought. She’d snagged him from her first smile. He wasn’t willing to let her go. If she knew how much power she held over him, over his emotions, she’d walk all over his heart…and out of his life. His distraction cost him.
Rachel scrambled from his hold and peeled the T-shirt over her head. Full breasts spilled over white bra cups, the nipples a dark shadow dead center. Ripe for the plucking too. Deep cleavage promised sweet relief.
“I usually wear a leather vest for this type of activity, but this will have to do for tonight.” Rachel flipped her hair back; time slowed down.
Ben palmed his crotch and tried to find a comfortable position. He followed every strand of hair up, the purse of her lips, the lift of her breasts as she captured the black tendrils in her hands and wrangled them into a haphazard topknot. A few dared defy her, trickling down enticingly to her neck. God only knew what held her hair in place, because Ben couldn’t see a damn thing.
She gave Ben a playful smack on the shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Time to show me whatcha got.”
Sure strides took her to the far end of the room, past all the playroom equipment to the wall-sized cabinet beyond. No hesitation. Rachel knew where she was going. Ben watched her open the cabinet and peruse the selection of crops, whips, paddles, and floggers arranged inside. Her selection was quick. She tugged on leather gloves that hugged her fingers with as much perfection as her skintight jeans did her ass. It was the way she smoothed the leather into place that made him ache—stroking each finger like she’d stroke his cock.
She damn well knew it too. Ben saw her smirk reflected in the surrounding mirrors. They’d see who was smiling when she was over his lap, those tight jeans binding her knees, and her ass afire from a good paddling.
“You might want to find a safe place.” Rachel edged past him, a six-foot bullwhip looped in her right hand, a basket of white votives and tapers in the other.
Rachel randomly placed the candles around the room on equipment, benches, and the floor, then tossed the basket aside as she took center stage. The candles remained unlit. Ben leaned against the horse, out of the line of fire. He hoped.
Legs braced, fierceness etched in her face, she swung the whip over her head in elegant arcs. He anticipated the crack. Hearing it still generated a full-body gasp. It was the flex in her biceps, the mastery of her control, the power in the follow-through. The candles didn’t stand a chance. Neither did he. It was enough to make a man come all over himself.
Ben knew his crotch sported a damp shot. It was the least of his concerns at the moment. Not coming all over himself held the top spot.
He watched her nail every candle over and over again, splitting each in two. She was the whip, and it was her. Sweat glistened on her skin, trickled down her breasts. And when she’d beaten the unlit candles into submission, she swung his way. The whip curled around his feet, mere inches from his bare toes. Somehow he managed not to flinch…or to come.
“Your turn.” Rachel tossed him the handle. Ben caught it in one hand while she hopped onto the horse beside him, her ass temptingly close.
“You realize I’m going to have to top you.” And he meant that in every possible way.
She cocked her head his way. “I’d like to see you try.” Her whiskey-smooth voice held more invitation than caution.
“I do love a challenge.” Ben slipped his hand over her hip.
Rachel swung around until that hand was poised near her crotch. “So I’ve heard.”
The words seeped into Ben’s blood, raced his heart, and tightened his balls. She’d been keeping tabs on his Sledge self. He cupped her knee and slid his hand up her thigh until his fingers were scant inches from the apex. Rachel gave little away, but the fluttering pulse at her throat sure did.
“I’m waiting,” she singsonged.
Ben grinned. “For what, Miss Moore?”
A flush crawled over her face. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
Ben glided his hand upward, pressing his palm into her belly, then around until his fingers girdled her ribs and his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. He wiggled it under the bra cup and tugged it down, releasing her tit to him. Rapid yet controlled breaths shook the morsel of light brown flesh. He flicked his thumb over it, watched it harden. God, he knew what that felt like.
Rachel curled her fingers around the horse. Those long lashes swept downward. She was his. Ben prayed he didn’t screw up.
He traced his thumb over the other cup. Though he longed to watch it spill into his hand too, he kept his gaze on her face for the slightest glimpse to warn him off. The only thing that changed was her lips, parting on a gasp when his thumb grazed her hard nipple.
“I’m going to fuck you, Miss Moore.” He bent to capture his prize.
A small whimper fell against his ear. “Not if I fuck you first, Mr. Welsh.” She snagged the edges of her bra and tugged it back into place. “I’m still waiting for that demonstration of your talents.”
“You’ll be pleased, Miss Moore.” He skirted his hand down to her hip and stepped away. Only one problem remained—how he was going to maneuver with an erection wedged down one leg.
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