by Moira McTark
"You're an asshole."
Her smooth voice echoed out of the open elevator, ripping him from his self-pity off the floor and onto his feet inside a second.
Laine stood against the back corner of the mirrored car, stripped down to her sapphire bra, panties and heels, one foot planted against the side rail, the other on the floor. The fingers of her right hand traced lazy circles around her belly, while those of the left snapped her phone shut.
The air felt thin coming in and out of his chest. “Laine..."
"I said ‘You're an asshole.’ You scared the hell out of my new assistant this morning."
"Assistant?” Oxygen seemed to reenter his system, rush his brain.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “His name is Max. He's been trying to get me to take him on as my apprentice for a while now, and last week we struck a deal. I've always liked the idea of working for myself, but, out of loyalty to Connie, I couldn't consider it. I didn't want to betray her after everything she'd done for me—giving me a chance when I was starting out—by going into competition with her. But now I know it's the right thing. I've started my own company, Buttercream Brides. I don't have an office yet, so we're working out of my place. But that's not why I'm here. Max gave me your message ... something about you loving me?” Her eyes shone with hope and then flashed to mischief as she continued to stroke the skin across her abdomen. “You owe me a rain-check. And if you think you can get off without delivering on a debt, clearly you don't realize who you are dealing with."
Jason was in the elevator within two strides. Dropping the phone, his fingers wound in her hair, tilting her head back, he met her mouth in a ravenous kiss. And then, tearing himself away, he looked into her eyes.
"Laine, it's been hell these last seven days. I love you. I don't want to live without you."
She wove her fingers into his hair and pulled him close to her face. “Then don't."
Jason was solid, warm. Real. Not the dream that had left her frustrated and confused every night for the past week. Gripping fistfuls of his shirt, she clung to him, desperate to feel him, to know that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
She'd been going through the motions of moving on with her life, but none of it felt real. None of it felt right. Deciding to start her own bridal consultant business should have been a thrill—it had been her dream for so long. But not having Jason to tell about it, to celebrate with her, left a drab sheen over the entire event. She missed him at every critical moment, expected to see him every time she turned around. For two years he'd been there whenever she'd needed him—as if he sensed her every emotion and need. He was there to bolster her when she felt doubt, to argue with her when she needed to get back on track. To hold her when she couldn't stand to be alone anymore.
It had been crazy not to run back to him and explain, beg him to understand. She'd been hurt, and her ego had gone into a full-on temper tantrum when he'd walked through the lobby with that disappointed look plastered across his face. She'd been furious and brokenhearted.
But then she'd thought about it. They believed in the same thing passionately enough that both were willing to take a stand in the name of love and honesty. Both willing to sacrifice something they loved to do the right thing. She couldn't work for Connie anymore because Connie didn't care about the outcome of a marriage past the last dance of the wedding day. Laine cared about the outcome of the couple's life together.
Jason believed in love and honesty so much that he was ready to walk away from her when he thought she didn't respect it. And he loved her enough to come after her, even before he understood, because he had faith in her. He was the man who made her believe in fairytale romance, the magic of weddings, and the lives she touched when she made them happen.
"Jason, I love you. I need you too."
He pulled her tightly into his arms and tilted her head up to look at him. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. Then just as quickly he pushed her back and grabbed her hands, searching them for something.
"Did your assistant give you the cake?"
She blinked, looking up at him. He seemed tense.
"Yes.” She leaned down and brushed her discarded clothes off the box. Lifting it by the tie, she held it up for him. “I brought it, you bad boy."
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “So you haven't opened it yet?"
"No. I wasn't going to start without you."
"Good, open the box. But you're wearing too many clothes.” He traced a line with his pinky from her bra down to her panties. “The shoes you can keep, but I'll have to help you out of the rest."
Laine untied the string, chills racing across her skin. “Naked right? Something about a cottage, a bunch of promises of pleasure I recall. Maybe you could give me a taste of that right now."
She felt like she would melt from the heat in his eyes. “A taste would never be enough. If you let me, I'm going to give you everything, and I'm going to do it forever.” He took the box and knelt down in front of her, holding it up as she lifted the pink cardboard lid off the cake box and gasped.
Embedded in the center of the ten-inch round, buttercream frosted cake was the most breathtaking ring she'd ever seen.
"Will you give me forever, Laine?"
She dropped to her knees, pulling the frosting-coated ring free. Jason set the cake aside and took the ring from her shaking grasp. He slid it over the third finger on her left hand, leaving a smeared sweet trail of frosting in its path.
"Yes, forever,” she sighed, feeling the word fill her heart as the soft glide of his lips against hers made the world go away.
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About the AuthorTo learn more about Moira McTark, please visit www.moiramctark.blogspot.com or send an email to [email protected]. She loves to hear from her readers!
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This professor's final exam includes a spanking.Dear Sir, I'm Yours© 2009 Joely Sue BurkhartThere's no house restoration too challenging for Rae Jackson, a.k.a. “The Fix-It Lady". There's no fixing the past, though. Like the day she left college. A semester of flirting with her English professor ended when he spanked her to the best orgasm of her life. Afraid of her own eager willingness to comply with the sexy dom's commands—no matter what—she fled.
Yet not even five years can dim her memory of his masterful touch.
Conn never forgot the one student who gave him a big fat “F” on the greatest test of his life. After all these years, he's still haunted by his uncharacteristic loss of control. When he finds the very object of his shame—and desire—crawling around under his grandmother's house, he swears to do anything to win Rae's trust.
Rae finds herself helpless against Conn's slow seduction. Exactly the way she likes it. Instead of poetry, this time she learns the erotic pleasure to be found in bondage ... and submission to the sexiest professor alive.
Warning: Explicit sex, spanking, light bondage, a crazy old lady who talks to ghosts, and one lethal pink parasol.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dear Sir, I'm Yours:
Dear Dr. Connagher:
We all wear masks, whether to protect ourselves or others. Sometimes the mask slips, and it's a very frightening thing when the beast is revealed beneath the pleasant exterior.
Richard has so many masks that I can't keep track of them all. He has the supervisor role he plays with the contractors, the good ole boy role with his buddies, the dutiful son-in-law with my father. All of them are fake—I just never noticed it before. One by one, those masks slipped enough for me to see the truth.
Last night, he looked at my poor crippled father in that wheelchair with contempt, and I wanted to leap on Richard and beat him to death with my own fists.
To be honest, it never occurred to me that he was only pretending, even with me. Especially with me. Oh, Conn, he can be so terribly mean.
Of course, only at home where no one can see his mask pulled aside. It sounds ridiculously immature to whine about someone being mean, but I always thought that someone who loved me, really loved me, would never be able to speak to me so harshly.
Like I'm stupid. Worthless. Dog manure to wipe off his boots.
Later, he apologized, but the damage had been done. I saw, I heard, and I can't forget. The man I thought I loved and loved me in return is no longer there. I suspect he never was.
Whether in class or the hallway, you treated everyone the same, from lowly non-English students, to returning students you mentored year after year, to fellow professors. You never acted differently, until it was just you and me behind your locked office door.
That's when the real Conn peeked out.
I loved him as much as the professor, even if you scared me half to death.
I wear a mask now, putting on an “everything's okay” face as soon as I get out of bed in the morning. I hate that damned mask. I hate pretending, losing myself a little more each day.
I'm scared, Conn. I'm scared that I'll forget who I am until I am the mask. You're the only man who ever saw the real me. I hold on to her, but I feel her slipping a little more each day beneath this cold, numbing mask.
The night I stop dreaming about you will be the morning I don't have to put the mask on any longer. I'll be a zombie, then, a ghost, the girl you knew dead and buried beneath a false façade of vapid smiles and broken dreams.
I wish you could bend me back over your desk and spank me until I feel again. Help me, Conn. Help me remember who I am.
~ Rae
Sitting down at their table in the semi-private darkened alcove of Mythos, Rae glanced about the restaurant. Greek statues, arches, carved cherubs, even mosaics decorated the elegant restaurant, but she didn't pay much attention to them.
Everybody in the restaurant was staring at them.
Conn scooted her chair in and she snagged his arm, drawing him down to whisper in his ear. “Why's everybody staring at us?"
Chuckling softly, he kissed her cheek and moved to sit beside her. “Because you're gorgeous, darlin'."
Her heart skipped a beat and shot off to the races. “The dress isn't too much?"
"Oh, it's too much alright. But you look gorgeous in it, Rae. You're giving off a divine mixture of innocence and seductress that's driving every poor man in this restaurant insane."
"What about you?"
"Well, darlin', I'm imagining turning you over my knee."
Heat scalded her cheeks and she quickly buried her face in the menu, hoping to hide. “I knew you'd hate this dress. I tried to tell Miss Belle—"
"I don't hate it, Rae.” He slid his hand beneath the table and stroked her thigh beneath the skirt. “I love it. It's perfect and she knew it. And I still want to spank your delectable ass while I find out whether you wore anything beneath it or not."
Heat pounded through her, heart racing, palms—and other areas—dampening. Sparing a furtive glance at the other patrons, she hesitated. She needed answers, especially about what had happened in his office that day. Perhaps in public would be for the best, as long as they whispered. No one sat close enough to overhear, and at least he couldn't actually act on what they were talking about. “Did you spank other students?"
"Now that's a very interesting question.” Conn laid the menu down. “These past years, I've worked harder at understanding myself, what makes me tick. I learned how I should have proceeded with a woman like you."
Tired of scanning the menu, she laid hers down and took a sip of water. Not sure she really wanted to know, she asked, “Like me?"
"Eager to please, untrained and unsure, afraid of and attracted to a big bad man like me.” He laughed softly at the look on her face, whatever it was, and took her hand in his. “I took a few trips for conferences these past years and made connections with people who could help me."
She frowned, trying to imagine him asking for help. “With what?"
He leaned closer and whispered, “Kinky shit."
The waiter came over. Blood was pounding and rushing in her ears too loudly for her to hear what Conn told him. Nodding, the waiter left them alone once more.
"I needed help figuring out how to break you in, so to speak, if I ever tracked you down again. I needed help reining myself in, the proper things I should do to ensure you're safe and unafraid. The right way to build a long-term committed relationship and not just a night playing. It's a huge difference, Rae, and even five years ago, I intended to play for keeps.
"So that's the long answer of saying I did spank a few other women—who knew what they were and what I was. It was playing. Did I ever spank any other student? Absolutely not; I never had any relationship at all with a student before or after you. Did I ever fall for any other woman? No. Not like this."
He waited until she met his gaze. Fingers trembling, she gripped his hand harder.
"I loved you then, Rae, and I love you more now. I'm not losing you again."
"But—"
"We'll work out every single objection you have as they come up. I won't push, rush, or bully you into anything, but I'm not letting you run. You run, and I will follow, come hell or high water, and you can bet I'll spank your ass fire-engine red when I catch you.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, her ear. “And then I'm going to make love to you so hard and long you won't ever be able to run again."
Her stomach tightened, that familiar knot of nerves insisting she should run or fight, anything but stay. But his deep blue eyes locked on her, smoldering with intensity, and she couldn't run, not even for the fun of the chase. She didn't want to.
The waiter returned and poured two glasses of red wine. Rae took a hesitant sip, braced to not like it. But it was sweet and warm, thick, very, very good. Sip by sip, it flowed through her spreading heat. By the darkness in Conn's eyes, it affected him the same way.
"What is this?"
"Black Opal Shiraz. I typically drink Merlot but I thought you might like this better. It's sweeter than I usually drink."
"So you don't always want the sweetest?"
"Ah, now, darlin', that's a loaded question.” He stretched out his arm along the back of her chair, his fingers trailing over her arm. “I want my wine red and strong with a kick. The only problem is it really heats my blood. I'll only drink one glass tonight, or I won't be driving us home. I'll be too busy making you mine in the backseat of my car. My libido doesn't need any assistance right now in running amok."
With trembling fingers, she took another sip while he talked up the waiter. Evidently they knew him enough to recommend a new dish they thought he'd enjoy. He asked what she wanted, and she let him choose. It was probably a very submissive thing to do, but she really didn't care, as long as it made his eyes darken. At a restaurant like this, they wouldn't serve a single bad dish. She was bound to get something good.
Nothing as good and wicked as Conn. “So tell me about you."
"What do you want to know, darlin'?"
"Everything."
He talked about his family living in Texas, his mama, Miss Belle's first-born daughter. He had an older brother, Victor, and a younger sister, Vicki, all hell-bent and trouble according to him.
"If your mama is anything like Miss Belle, then I'm really not sure I want to meet her."
Conn laughed, his fingers making lazy circles on her arm. “As a matter of fact, Mama is worse than Miss Belle. She inherited many of Colonel Healy's more obnoxious bossy traits."
Rae shuddered, thankful her possible in-laws lived so far away. “You're still teaching at Drury, aren't you?"
"Sure am. I'd like to be here until the day I die."
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"A little fencing with a friend of mine. We make the Ren Faire circuit."
"You fence? Like with swords?"
"It's a hobby of mine.” He turned quiet, somber, the grooves in his face pronounced. They ate quietly, Rae trying to
enjoy the chicken despite the capers. “What's wrong with your dish?"
"Nothing."
"Rae, you've got to tell me if you're not happy with something. Every time you take a bite, you frown. How can I take care of you if I don't even know what you need?"
Her brain retorted that she didn't need anybody to take care of her, but her heart melted. “I don't like capers. I should have read the menu closer."
"My fault, darlin'. You let me order, remember? What else don't you like?"
They talked about food while enjoying the incredible dinner, but tension wound higher, subtle at first, but more and more pronounced. She kept jumping every time he moved or spoke, unsure why she was so tense. Her nerves jangled, sensitive to the least signal from him. Pushing his plate away, he stretched out his legs beneath the table, deliberately wide and sprawled so his thigh rubbed hers.
She moaned softly before she could silence it. The tension mounted, thick and oppressive, matching the darkening storm in his eyes.
Finally, he leaned over and breathed into her ear. “I think it's time to give you that extra credit."
Startled, she glanced around the restaurant, but nobody sat close enough to hear. The alcove was dark and made for lovers. Surely he wouldn't—"What, here?"
"Yes, here."
The waiter brought a thick slice of death-by-chocolate layered cake. Conn loaded the fork and fed her bite by bite, his eyes locked on her mouth. Every few bites, he put the empty fork in his mouth and licked it clean. His eyes blazed. From the chocolate? Or her taste?
She tried to quell the heat spreading through her. “Don't I get to feed you?"
One corner of his mouth quirked. “I thought you'd never ask."
Leaning down, he licked her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone. Just a nibble, but she jolted with surprise just the same. He slid his arm behind her, his palm sliding hot down her right arm. His body heat seared her left side, back, and thigh. Sitting in public, she felt covered by him, possessed by his little touches and potent stares. It was odd, terrifying, and thrilling at the same time.
