by Sabrina York
Mercy gathered what she’d need for lunch. “Be back in an hour,” she promised.
“Take two.” Jill smiled broadly, showing her gums. “You’re the boss.”
Here. When it came to her guys, Mercy liked them in charge.
She ran across the lot, a whiff of ocean in the air, clouds on the horizon. Still free of them, the sun blazed past the tall trees, sending fingers of light through the dense foliage.
Mercy hurried down the familiar path, smelling the barbeque before she saw it. Travis stood at the smoky grill, flipping burgers. Dutch put plates and utensils on the picnic table. Mercy held up her bag and shook it.
Seeing her, they grinned. A pang of tenderness hit so hard and deep, Mercy could scarcely breathe. These two sweet hunks loved her.
Her mom would have been so happy and relieved. Her baby wasn’t alone anymore.
Travis shouted, “What did you bring?”
“Your favorites, what else?” He couldn’t pass a day without one of her caramel-apple Danishes with peanut butter glaze. Dutch preferred her chocolate cream cheese cupcakes with cherry filling.
For Mercy, no treat could match the fierce hugs and impassioned kisses they gave her now. Their pleasure in merely being with her. She snuggled into them, drowning in their heat and strength.
“Hungry?” Travis murmured.
When it came to him and Dutch, always. Mercy squeezed their asses. “I could eat.”
Dutch pressed his face to her neck and whispered, “Later, you will.”
“And if you’re not good,” Travis added, his mouth on her ear, “there will be hell to pay.”
Hmm. His hand or the strap. Her bent over his knee, or maybe Dutch’s, since he also liked to play their games of bondage and discipline.
Ground rules Mercy could live with.
Wrapping her arms around their waists, she directed them to the table. Eager to share what had happened so far in her day, then listen to their updates.
Building on their friendship and love. The family, home, and future they’d created.
About the Author
Tina Donahue is an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Siren Publishing, and Kensington. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic romances (Adored, Lush Velvet Nights, and Deep, Dark, Delicious) were named finalists in the 2011 EPIC competition. The French review site, Blue Moon reviews, chose her erotic romance Sensual Stranger as their Book of the Year 2010 (erotic category). The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for Lush Velvet Nights, and two of her titles (The Yearning and Deep, Dark, Delicious) received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition (2011 and 2012). Take Me Away and Adored both won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. She was the editor of an award–winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company.
This Time When We Touch
Intimate Details
Email:
[email protected]
Website:
http://www.tinadonahue.com/
Blog:
http://www.tinadonahue.com/blog/
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/tinadonahue
Facebook:
http://www.facebook.com/tina.donahue.75
FB Fanpage:
https://www.facebook.com/TinaDonahueBooks
Triberr:
http://triberr.com/tinadonahue
Pinterest:
http://pinterest.com/authortina/my-books/
Amazon author page:
https://www.amazon.com/author/tinadonahue
My page at TRR:
http://erotic.theromancereviews.com/mypageprofile.php?location=tinadonahue
Ellora’s Cave Author Page:
https://www.ellorascave.com/index.php/authors/index/author/slug/tina-donahue/
Samhain Author Page:
http://store.samhainpublishing.com/Tina-Donahue-pa-1630.html
Other Titles by Tina Donahue
Coming Soon
Freeing the Beast – Book one Taming the Beast (Samhain Publishing) 2015
Available Now
Appointment with Pleasure series
Claiming Magique
Losing Control
Illicit Intent
Seven Sensuous Days
Outlawed Realm series
Unending Desire
Illicit Desire
Shameless Desire
Stolen Desire
The Prophecy series
Come Fill Me
Deep Within Me
Ménage
SiNN
Sinfully Wicked
Erotic Contemporary – Single Title
Adored
Deep, Dark, Delicious
Lush Velvet Nights
In His Arms
Sensual Stranger
Take Me Away
Taking Eve
Erotic Paranormal
The Yearning
This Time When We Touch
Brava – Erotic Contemporary – Single Title
Take My Breath Away
Close to Perfect
Brava – Erotic Contemporary – Anthologies
Wicked Women on Top
Bad Boys with Red Roses
Historical Anthology
Irish Eyes
Precious Gems – Contemporary
Once in a Blue Moon
Force of Nature
Lady Love
My Man
Take A Chance
Precious Gems – Historical
O’Toole’s Promise
Just One Kiss
Praise for Tina Donahue’s Novels
Four Stars – Romantic Times – Deep Within Me
“Book two of The Prophecy series will wow readers with its suspenseful plot and the blistering hot sex scenes that never seem to end.”
A True Gem – Guilty Pleasures Book Review – Come Fill Me
“I was enthralled by this book.”
Four Stars – Romantic Times – Illicit Desire
“It’s a rare treat to find an oft-used trope crafted into such a touching, sensual page-turner.”
Top Pick – Night Owl Reviews – Claiming Magique
“This sizzling tale starts off with a risqué foursome and provides a tale that celebrates sensuality.”
Rose that Rules All – Romancing the Book – Sinfully Wicked
“The writing, the characters, the high heat, and the captivating story all make this an excellent read.”
Five Stars – Mary’s Naughty Whispers – SiNN
“I was completely captivated from page one. SiNN is truly a fantastic story.”
Best Book Rating – LASR – Unending Desire
“This is a book not to be missed. Tina Donahue has done amazing work that shines way above and beyond the average.”
Five Stars – Romance Writers Reviews – Take Me Away
“Take Me Away is a must read, its sweet, funny and sexy!!”
Book of the Year – Erotic Category – Blue Moon Reviews – Sensual Stranger
“She writes superbly well.”
Four Stars – Romantic Times – In His Arms
“I highly recommend In His Arms by Tina Donahue.”
The Golden Nib Award – Miz Love Loves Books – Lush Velvet Nights
“I loved this book. Loved the voice. Loved the style.”
Perilous Play
The Real Fifty Shades
Suz deMello
Acknowledgments and Dedication
A world of thanks to my very vanilla critique partner, Diane Farr, for analyzing writing that surely must have tested the limits of her tolerance.
With many many thanks to the men who helped me along this path—every one of them. Yes, every single one. Even Trapper.
<
br /> Especially Trapper.
Dedicated to the BDSM community,
whose expertise and generosity made this a much better book.
Introduction
At the time of this writing—2013—Fifty Shades of Grey has ceased to be a pop-fiction phenomenon and has become a stable part of the cultural landscape. That means that BDSM sex is well on its way to becoming socially accepted, at least in the narrow part of Western culture we inhabit.
Thus, more will be dipping their toes—and more sensitive body parts—into the waters of fetish, kink, and other approaches to sex. That’s good if the waters are clear, the other swimmers’ intentions are pure, and the pool you dive into isn’t populated with sharks and other predators.
For those who may not have heard the term, BDSM refers to “Bondage/ Dominance/submission/masochism.” Or, perhaps, “Bondage/ Discipline/ Sadism/ masochism.” No one’s quite sure, and it doesn’t really matter. Most people will get the drift that such kinky sexuality is considered marginal. Such an opinion ignores the facts. No one knows, but one source, Wikipedia, estimates that up to 25% of the population may be engaged in BDSM. If so many are doing something, it’s normal.
But normal may not be healthy. The wrong food will make a person sick. The wrong partner will do the same.
This fictionalized memoir is a compilation of my experiences in this mysterious, wonderful and sometimes frightening realm of alternative human sexual behavior, with an emphasis on the sexual predators who seek to trap the unwary as well as the just plain ignorant fools out there who think that they can understand and enjoy edgy sex without adequate training and thoughtfulness.
Most of the events I relate are true, but names and other facts have been altered to protect the extremely guilty as well as the merely stupid. I’m not sure which category into which I fall, but I do want to protect myself from defamation lawsuits.
This fictionalized memoir contains nothing that has been said at any closed meeting or on any private website by anyone other than me. The manuscript was sent to the parties most intimately involved in my story and they were allowed to provide changes and revisions.
Chapter One
The Shark
I have been interested in BDSM since I read the Story of O when I was about seventeen years old. However, I never found a lover who shared my interest for a shockingly long time to wait for a treat. So when a prospective lover hinted that he was a Dominant, I jumped at the chance to be with him. It didn’t hurt that he was precisely what I want in a man—or so I thought upon our first meeting.
“Would you like to cane me, sir?”
Having asked the question, I jerked upright with a gasp. I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my mouth.
But they weren’t surprising given the context of the relationship. I had met Trapper Hart a couple months before—we attended the same law school. One day, mentally drained after a con law midterm, I left the classroom to find a tall, well-built guy lingering outside. Smiling, he engaged me in conversation, and I tried to seem really interesting because, articulate and attractive, he was everything I looked for in a man.
He didn’t ask me out right away. We started our friendship in the library, where he’d bring me cappuccinos—wet with extra foam, and treats—he knew I liked double fudge brownies with nuts. He’d found out what I liked, and I luxuriated in the notion that he really cared. I didn’t know this man well, but he had a knack for getting under my defenses. I’d had numerous boyfriends, and none had ever bothered to discover my cappuccino and brownie preferences. It was special, and made me feel special.
One day, feeling exceptionally brave and bold, I asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
After a brief hesitation, he answered, “There are a few women that I see.”
“Huh.” I absorbed that. Figuring that he couldn’t be in love with any of them—if so there’d be only one—I asked, “Are you in the market for one? I mean, a girlfriend?”
I glowed at his positive answer. But a week or so later, at a mixer for the mayor of Berkeley, he was at the restaurant with not one but two women. Both were pretty, well-groomed blondes, one with a smooth bob and the other, an older woman, with bleached curlier hair.
Nevertheless, I continued my brave and bold approach, guessing that the women were friends, not lovers. I learned subsequently they could have been both, and that Trapper could have reveled in a threesome later that night. I never found out and later, I wouldn’t dare to ask my Dom such an intrusive question.
Yes, Trapper became my Dom, the man I’d wanted in my life.
The affair was semi-formal, and I had dressed for the occasion in a black velvet evening suit with heels. He wore a well-cut navy jacket, and his friends were in flowered, summer dresses—a little too casual, I thought.
While Trapper was getting drinks at the open bar, I plucked up my courage and told him bluntly that he was the only reason I’d bothered to attend. Smiling, he got wine for everyone, introduced me to the women and sat next to me on a couch in the reception area while the two of them hung out nearby glowering at me. I didn’t blame them. I was deliberately cutting Trapper away from the herd and by this time was so attracted to him that I didn’t feel a shred of shame or guilt. I knew what, or rather who, I wanted and I was gonna get him.
I had never been so motivated in my life. I had always been a little scared to go after a man I wanted. My m.o. was, “I don’t chase.” I merely offered myself by hanging around a guy I’m interested in, and if he’s interested too, I figured he’d come after me. Instinctively, I knew Trapper was different. Something in him called—shouted, actually—to something in me. I didn’t know what that something was, but I was sure as hell gonna find out.
While Trapper and I chatted, the two women whispered while shooting venomous glares at me. After a few minutes, the younger blonde announced that she was going to check out the restaurant. We all rose and accompanied her. Inside the bar, we talked with a few other people. Trapper was standing between me and the younger blonde, and when he covertly took her hand, my heart sank. I let them go and, after chatting with one of my instructors, left the party.
I assumed that was it, that Trapper did have a girlfriend and wasn’t interested in me as a lover. In my hopefulness I’d misinterpreted his intentions. Okay, I told myself, I can live with that.
But three days later, after a Tuesday morning class, he asked me to lunch.
We spent the rest of the day together. We went to a vegan restaurant and two bars, including one dive so obscure that even Trapper got a little lost in the vast transit system despite his wealth of knowledge about the east bay. As we went back to school so he could pick up his bike, he started a conversation about sex.
Bondage sex.
BDSM sex.
My heart raced. I said I was interested.
He wanted to know what role I preferred.
I said I thought I tended toward submission while trying not to squirm too obviously.
Again I found some courage and asked him out Saturday night. He said he wanted to go to his condo at Sea Ranch, a beautiful beachside getaway on the Sonoma coast.
I tried not to be too disappointed.
Later in the week he clarified—he wanted me to go with him.
I was stunned.
I was actually considering going with a man I barely knew to his condo, alone, a hundred miles away from my home, where I would have BDSM sex with him as his submissive.
Had I lost my mind?
Yes, but not completely. I might not have known Trapper well, but I saw where he hung out. As far as I knew, few serial killers were bike-riding, Birkenstock-wearing Berkeley-based vegans. In fact, even though I had a legal background and an interest in true crime news, I had never heard of a bike-riding vegan serial killer.
So I figured I’d be okay.
He had told me that we’d meet at the library at ten, but when I arrived for my Saturday study group, he wasn’t there. Shoving back my hurt,
I told myself he’d surely contact me shortly.
The group ended at noon. No Trapper. Swallowing tears, I headed home to find he hadn’t called or left any other kind of message. Then I looked at my bags packed for the weekend, gulped down more tears and unpacked.
Wouldn’t you know it? After I’d put away the last pair of panties at half-after-twelve and started to study, Trapper called, said he’d been working and wanted to leave in an hour or so.
I was again stunned.
A lot of women would have said, “No thanks—you were supposed to meet me at the library. You stood me up and so I’ve made other plans.” And in my case that would have been true, and probably the smart thing to do.
But in this situation, I was eager to experience what Trapper could give me. So I tucked away my misgivings (Shouldn’t he be more courteous and considerate? Shouldn’t I play hard to get?) and repacked.
I was absurdly happy.
I was in a lot of trouble.
I had it baaaad.
He told me to meet him at an address in the Berkeley hills, an area so chi-chi that home tours are the rule not the exception. The mansions are large, perfectly maintained and generally about a century old where they avoided the numerous fires that plague the dry area. Some were designed by Julia Morgan, whose work epitomized the Craftsman style. Gardens are elegant and manicured, and the one I drove to on that Saturday afternoon was typical.
The front garden had been cleverly xeriscaped, that is, landscaped with plant species and other features that don’t need much water. Xeriscaping started as a fad but in California, where droughts aren’t unusual, xeriscaping is the new normal. No lawn—grass is a water hog—but stone and concrete flowerbeds, statuary and a fountain or two.
I knocked at the impressive front door and was admitted by Trapper’s brother, who told me that Trapper wasn’t there. But the rest of his family was, including his parents. Though startled, I drew on my upbringing (there’s something about being raised by Brits that enables one to encounter new situations with courtesy and aplomb), greeted and shook hands with everyone.
