Degrees of Control

by Eve Dangerfield

  Degrees of Control

  Eve Dangerfield

  Published 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-278-5

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2015, Eve Dangerfield. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  Seeking satisfaction…

  Charlie Bell is your typical yoga teacher. She’s friendly, earnest and has some slight masochistic tendencies. After a painful break-up she’s determined to address her long-denied kinks and her friends have just the man for the job.

  James Hunter is a model turned corporate suit. It’s a boring gig but strings-free screwing has always been his preferred form of entertainment. After a “chance” encounter at a party, James agrees to school Charlie in the harsher side of sex. He knows she’s too sincere for a guy like him but he can’t possibly resist a starry-eyed submissive like her. But what begins as a casual encounter soon becomes a connection that runs deeper than Charlie and James could have ever imagined.

  Dedication

  For Claire who heard it first, for Tim who showed me how and for Peasy most of all, because she lights up my world.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Shaun who edited this whole damn book for a bottle of wine, to Liquid Silver Books for taking a chance on me, and Deanna and Christine for wading through my many Australianisms and oddly conjoined words. Without you this manuscript would never have become a novel.

  Chapter 1

  Charlie Bell examined the party unfolding in front of her, torn between exasperation and wonder. Over a hundred people were dancing, drinking or tucked into dimly-lit corners chatting. Glamorous women in silk skirts and well-groomed men were swigging micro-brewed beer from the bottle. Sophia Hunter’s enormous marble house glowed with intricate tangles of Chinese lanterns and pillar candles. A hardwood dance floor had been installed and four margarita machines were dispensing tequila like tap water. The event that Sophia had insisted would be low-key looked like a cross between a GQ after-party and Mardi Gras. Charlie should have known better from a woman whose engagement party had both live doves and a champagne fountain.

  Whether Sophia’s fiancé Simon objected to the money spent on this so-called “mid-season softball function,” Charlie didn’t know. This party, which bore no relationship to their crappy softball league, had been orchestrated by Sophia solely so that Charlie could get a look at a rebound penis.

  It had been budgeted for three hundred dollars, which meant pizza and beer not oysters, black tie and what she was pretty sure was a professional DJ. At least this charade explained the dress. Sophia had insisted she wear a blue silk halter, low in the front and non-existent in the back. Not exactly something a girl wore to a friend’s barbecue. Sophia’s planning frenzy also explained the make-up artist who’d stormed her apartment this afternoon. One minute Charlie was eating peanut butter from the jar, the next Gloria from “Glorious Beauty” was raiding her house like the goddamn FBI. She had pinned Charlie to a chair, curled her hair, painted her face and plastered horse-like eyelashes over her human ones, all while talking at a hundred miles an hour. When the nightmare was over, Gloria was as proud as a dog groomer with an award-winning spaniel, but to her it felt like a disguise. Surely any guy she flirted with would sense the desperation seeping from her gigantic eyes and flushed mouth? Not that she even remembered how to flirt. Win people over? Yes. Convince them touching their toes was an achievable goal? Sure. But casual sex wasn’t something she’d ever been good at, even before Dale.

  Amidst a boiling Melbourne summer Charlie fell head over heels for a wiry, Theroux-reading musician. After a few months of dating, Dale “Wonder Boy” Collins somehow inserted a message into a fortune cookie and when Charlie pulled the note out it read: For happiness eternal, go with your boyfriend to America. Dale was the kind of free-thinking guy she’d been worried didn’t exist, so she ignored her family’s cries of “it’s too soon” and jumped on a seven-forty-seven to the land of the free. Via Dubai.

  Her first few weeks in Minneapolis were a dream. All she and Dale did was play house, have sex and eat quinoa. His friends were charming and Dale’s straight-laced family accepted her instantly. They were the perfect, environmentally-friendly couple. But then Charlie accepted a full-time position at a yoga studio and joined a local softball league and everything changed. Her independence connected with the well-concealed tripwire of Dale’s jealousy and he went from lover to guardian in a heartbeat. Not that she realized; Machiavelli could have taken pointers from Dale.

  Her boyfriend never accused her of encouraging men, just asked if she felt rude not flirting back. He never said she dressed like a slut, just implied her clothes were too tight. A few times he even offered her money for new clothes. Whenever she confronted him Dale always managed to convince her she’d misinterpreted his words. It sounded ridiculous, embarrassing even, but for months Charlie didn’t even realize she had to justify every crop top and girls’ night out. Their relationship had become a re-enactment of her teen years, with Dale playing the role of Grandma Bell and insisting good girls didn’t have sexual desires. She might have stayed longer, too ashamed to admit she’d fallen for a man who was so cruel, but one fateful evening, a man spilled a drink on her at a bar. The guy bought Charlie a new sparkling water and they spent a few minutes chatting. Then her boyfriend dragged her away like a child playing too close to an unmarked van and, under the influence of six vodka tonics, called her a whore and an embarrassment. Charlie waited until Dale ran out of steam and told him he was living proof a man could be a vegan and an asshole.

  She left him that night. It was a risky move for a broke yoga teacher in a foreign country, but her friends made sure she didn’t regret it. Jordan drove her home from the bar at two in the morning. Sophia let her crash in her guest house for three weeks. Hayley wrestled her belongings away from Dale who attempted to hold her yoga bag hostage. It was awkward and messy but it was over, and once she was free of Dale, Charlie felt like she could see everything clearly again, perhaps even better than before. All her life she had chosen safe, or in Dale’s case, deceptively safe guys, steering clear of the alpha types that made her knees shake. She enjoyed vanilla sex, but in the back of her mind thoughts of being taken and controlled played like dirty films on a continuous loop. Her cookie cutter relationships were self-preservation, but they were also cowardly. She’d never really evolved beyond the shy, desperately horny teenager she’d tried so hard to hide. The girl who dreamt about stern-faced cowboys and being tied up by super villains. Dale, spectacular jerk though he was, taught her that even when you played it safe you could lose. So what was the point? Charlie had never been able to marry her sexual needs with her peaceful, tree-hugging self, but in a new country, with a new life, she thought it was probably time to start.

  She invited her friends around for a special “thanks for rescuing me” dinner and with shaking hands confessed her kinky secrets. She expected Hayley, Jordan and especially Sophia to be horrified but instead they’d been wildly curious and supportive. That night Charlie had one of the most wonderful, open minded conversations about sex
she’d ever had. Sophia liked having her hair brushed, and Hayley was crazy about anal. Jordan once dumped a guy for not letting her sit on his face. They laughed and read My Secret Garden aloud until Charlie realized her fantasies were pretty minor. None of them involved dogs. The relief of confession alone was exhilarating but she had an ulterior motive; there was no chance her friends would let her forget what she told them.

  Charlie was right; Sophia, Jorden and Hayley took her dilemma seriously, a little too seriously as it turned out. They began debating hook-up tactics as heatedly as the pre-game lineup. Hayley suggested an app that located kinky partners by proximity, but Charlie felt the plan contained a high risk of post-coital strangulation. Jordan recommended fetish clubs, but Charlie didn’t want to yell at men over ear-splitting music. They offered exes and known players but no one could vouch for sexual competence. Hayley slyly suggested a prostitute. Unsurprisingly, it was Sophia, the corporate sales executive who formulated the solution. She threw a house party and, using a military-grade drafting system, invited every single handsome guy in Minneapolis.

  So here Charlie was, lurking in the doorway of Sophia’s house, witnessing her own personal man buffet come to life. Despite the insanity, the atmosphere was perfect; intimate and classy with just enough seductive influence to suggest anyone could get laid if they played their cards right. The way people were already grinding away on the dance floor, they actually might. Wouldn’t that be ironic? A party for her vagina and she came too late to score anyone.

  “Darlin’, you look amazing! What kept you so long?”

  A sharp southern accent snapped Charlie out of her reverie. Gliding across the dance floor toward her, immaculate in pink, was Sophia.

  “Sorry, Soph, I caught the bus.”

  “In that dress? You’re a crazy woman. I asked Gloria to drive you!”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t bumming a ride off that make-up Nazi, Soph. You might have warned me about her, by the way.”

  Sophia smiled. “Then you wouldn’t have let me do it. Anyway, never mind that now, you’re here now and you look fantastic.”

  “So does this place. It’s like something out of the Roaring Twenties.”

  “Damn, lady, you look hot as fuck, I may take you home myself.”

  Hayley pulled Charlie into an enormous hug. Her rumpled red hair and shining eyes suggested liberal use of the margarita machines.

  “I feel naked,” Charlie confessed, and Hayley shook her head slowly.

  “You’re just Dale-ing.”

  As a coping mechanism the softball team named their self-deprecating thoughts after Charlie’s ex, as in I thought I looked chunky in my skinny jeans but I was just Dale-ing myself. Every time someone used the phrase Charlie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry with appreciation.

  Hayley stared deeply into Charlie’s eyes “You’re so beautiful and shiny.” She pulled her into another long embrace until Sophia dragged them apart.

  “Okay, Drunky McDrunk, enough hugs, let’s brief.”

  Sophia took both their arms and tugged them toward her winding staircase. They climbed until they were hidden from view but still able to scope the venue.

  Sophia fretted with her rings. “Lord, I’m nervous.” Charlie patted her hand. With her glacial-blue eyes and corn silk blonde hair many people assumed Sophia was a shallow Southern debutante as though a woman born into privilege was bound to become a cold-hearted bitch. In truth, Sophia was a sweet, intelligent woman who could strategize her way out of a blitzkrieg. She micromanaged Charlie’s life out of an unabashed desire to see her happy and Charlie couldn’t help but love her for it.

  Hayley gulped another mouthful of frozen cocktail and rolled her eyes. “How hard could it be to get Charlie some dick? She’s a hot yoga teacher on the rebound—argh—brain freeze.”

  Charlie glowered at her friend. “Yoga is my entirely non-sexual profession. I want a guy to go home with me because he likes who I am, not because he wants to bang a yoga teacher and tell all his mates about it.”

  Hayley rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But it’s a good selling point.”

  “You leave selling her to me,” Sophia said in the brusque, confident tone she used for her pre-game speeches. Pulling herself all the way up to her six feet, she pointed toward her unsuspecting guests. “Charlie, you asked me to help you have a one-night stand of the sexually deviant nature.”

  “Hey, I did not ask for that.”

  “I can confirm there are thirty-seven single men here tonight, accounting for absences and unexpected girlfriends.”

  Hayley sniggered. “Oh good, Charlie’s first thirty-seven man orgy.”

  Charlie tried to stop her stomach from flopping around. This was actually going to happen.

  “To make things easier for you I have narrowed your options down to three ideal candidates based on hotness, height and your particular interests.”

  Charlie was beginning to regret telling Sophia so much about her fantasies.

  “First up, Blair Hudson, eleven o’clock, talking to Simon.”

  Charlie scanned the crowd until she spotted an auburn-haired man with a body that rightfully belonged to Superman. He literally towered over everyone around him.

  Sophia, nudged Charlie. “Blair is a six-foot-five State Trooper. He and Simon work together. He broke up with his fiancée last year and has been ploughing through every available female in the Midwest since.”

  “Holy shit, Charlie, he will destroy you,” Hayley whispered.

  “Candidate number two, Conner Moreno. Four o’clock, outside. Tall, dark and handsome.”

  Charlie took in the man smoking on the back porch. Conner had a shaved head, two armfuls of tattoos and a brooding expression.

  “He’s Colombian, a personal trainer and, by all accounts, a demon in the sack.”

  Hayley moaned. “Ten out of ten, would bang. Would. Bang.”

  Sophia rapped her on the back of head. “No poaching! You can have Charlie’s cast offs.”

  Charlie fiddled with her hair. “Why are all these guys so tall? They’ll make me look like a toddler.”

  “You specifically requested someone tall! I’m just meeting your demands.”

  Charlie groaned. “Sophia, please stop talking like a pimp.”

  Her friend swished her long blonde hair. “No. Tonight that’s what I am, your pimp. Now stop being so dramatic and concentrate. We have a surprise entry for draft number three because I wasn’t sure he was coming tonight—”

  “No. Fucking. Way.” Hayley gripped Charlie’s arm with wild abandon. “I thought he lived in Texas? Holy shit, Charlie, you have to pick him!”

  Sophia glared at Hayley. “Your third choice is James Hunter. Businessman, former football player, colossal man-whore and, like myself, an accent to die for, Miss Charlie.” Sophia stretched out her Texan twang like a piece of warm toffee.

  “He’s the blond over by the bar. Don’t judge by the clothes.”

  Good Lord.

  Charlie felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, her hand leapt to her curls like they were a protective amulet. The man in question was leaning against a wall, talking to a starry-eyed redhead. His face was half in shadow, arms crossed in front of his chest. The casual attire, sun-streaked hair and powerful body might have suggested he was a surfer but he lacked a surfer’s relaxed attitude. This man’s body language screamed indifference. The set of his square jaw was authoritative, almost arrogant and Charlie felt her spine straightening in response.

  “Abercrombie asked him to model in college,” Hayley whispered as though there was some chance the man would hear them halfway across a party. “He got paid to wear jeans with his shirt off, can you believe it?”

  Yes she could. If anyone was born to glare at people from monochrome jean commercials, it was this guy. He was a Calvin Klein cowboy, the unapproachable kind of handsome that made her want to cross the street when she saw it.

  For a moment Charlie allowed herself to wallow in possibility.
What would it be like to feel that man beneath her, on top of her, inside her? To hear his voice whispering harsh orders in her ear? The ghosts of a thousand unexplored fantasies fluttered in her mind, and from the safety of the staircase Charlie drank him in, memorizing the careless fall of his hair, the flex of his biceps as he brought his beer to his mouth. Sophia nudged her sharply.

  “Okay, so it’s obvious from your open-mouthed slavering who you prefer. I thought as much. Let’s do this.”

  A panicky drumroll kick-started in Charlie’s chest. Sophia couldn’t actually expect her, Charlotte Bell, owner of not one, but two dreamcatchers to hit on that Adonis? The very thought made her shrink back into the wall. “No freaking way, Soph. That guy is scary as shit. I’m not going near him.”

  But far from heeding her terror, Sophia laughed. “Charlie, stop Dale-ing. You are funny, hot and DTF. It’s a party; all you have to do is go up and ask him to dance. It’s not exactly hard to talk James Hunter into casual sex.”

  “I’m not Dale-ing! I just—wait—Hunter? How do you know him exactly, Soph?”

  Sophia shrugged her slender shoulders. “He’s my cousin. That’s not a problem, is it?”

  Hayley smirked. “They’re not those kind of cousins.”

  Charlie’s brain sagged. Clearly the end of financial year stress had driven Sophia insane. “Let me get this straight, you want me to screw a member of your family?”

  Sophia waved her pink-tipped hand. “Trust me, Charlie, I don’t care.”

  “Yeah, but still—”

  “He’s exactly what you’re looking for; attractive, dominating, slutty. He’s slept with plenty of my friends without my assistance. I don’t see how this is any different.”

  Charlie stole another glance at James and saw the redhead place a flirtatious hand on his mile-wide shoulder, and relief flooded her stomach. “Oh well, it looks like James is already taken. What a shame. Still, I’m sure there’s plenty more fish in the ‘not related to you’ sea.”