I wondered if he would still be okay with that arrangement once I’d been on a few more assignments. “Are you sure? That’s asking a lot of you.”
“Together we’ll find a way to make it work,” he assured me. “Just tell me you’ll quit EA before you reach my record. I’m kind of proud of it.”
“It’s a deal,” I said, tiptoeing to kiss those luscious lips one more time. “I love you, too, Ryan.”
It was the first time I had uttered those words to a man other than my father in over a decade. It felt strange and wonderful and magical and so perfectly, unequivocally right.
I left Demarco’s office and practically floated to tell Morello the good news. I figured I owed her an apology for our last few strange sessions.
Afterward, I had just returned to my office when my phone dinged with a text from Ryan.
What are your plans for tonight?
I quickly replied, laughing as I typed:
Fuck you, Demarco!
Then I sent an immediate follow-up:
Oops. I meant: Fuck me, Demarco!
A few seconds later I received a response:
Cool it with the sex talk, Mercer. I hear there are spies around here.
Bonus Sample
Here's the first chapter from Book 1 of Alexis's
erotic romance series, Forced to Bloom
Billionaire seeks submissive
I laughed out loud at my computer screen. It had to be a joke, right? Surely an actual billionaire wouldn’t be posting an ad in Craigslist’s “Casual Encounters” section. There it was, right between Young man for MILFs and cougars and Looking for mutual masturbation partner. I had been checking out Craigslist ads for a couple of weeks. Everyone on the popular websites OK Cupid and Match.com seemed to want to date, and I wanted… well, I wanted something else. I just wasn’t sure exactly what. Whatever it was, though, I wanted it badly enough to be looking through ads on a Monday morning before I left for work.
Billionaire seeks submissive
I’m not sure which word jumped out at me more, billionaire or submissive. Submissive unquestionably stirred something inside of me, but I was also curious whether the person who posted the ad was indeed worth that kind of money. And if so, why would he be trying to attract a submissive via Craigslist of all places — the Walmart of hookup sites?
Next to the phrase was the word “pic” in orange, Craigslist’s way of letting me know the ad contained a picture. My curiosity now thoroughly piqued, I clicked on the link.
The image jumped out at me. It was a crowded MAX car, Portland’s light-rail transit system, in which one woman sat with her blouse open, a single breast and its perfect nipple visible. Around her people were staring, some blatantly and some surreptitiously, while others were obviously forcing themselves not to stare. Everyone seemed fully cognizant of the fact that the woman was exposed in a way that women usually are not, at least not in public. The woman herself was either unaware that her breast was plainly visible or just unconcerned about it.
The text below the picture offered little explanation:
Billionaire male seeks submissive female.
You will do whatever I instruct you to.
Experienced only — “Fifty Shades” fans need not apply.
No compensation; this is a relationship, not a job.
Send a reply with ONE picture to be considered.
So he’s not a real billionaire, I thought. Someone with that much money wouldn’t be so stingy about it. Or would he? Maybe he was just attempting to weed out professionals and golddiggers. By explicitly stating there was no money involved, he would reduce replies from women who were interested for reasons other than a desire to submit to a dominant male. That was fine by me; I didn’t need money. Well, I did need it, but I wouldn’t want to base a relationship around money, even an unconventional one. I had a good-paying career as Social Media Coordinator for a large Portland healthcare business. Unlike many almost-thirty women, I was frugal and had very little debt. No credit card balances, and just my monthly rent, car note and student loans.
But why would I respond to the ad? Was I genuinely interested, or just titillated?
I was six months out of my previous relationship, one that had lasted two full years. Gerald and I were great fuckbuddies for a while, but as the initial great sex stage of our relationship faded away, he dumped me for an older woman — an older, thinner woman. I’m sure that her lithe, toned body was a welcome relief to him after my large frame. Gerald had never seemed thrilled with my size and regularly suggested I join a gym or eat paleo or whatever was the diet-of-the-week. After Gerald, I was too depressed to date for a while, thinking I needed time to focus on myself before jumping back into the pool. Soon I found I had no desire to go on traditional dates. What I really wanted for a while was no-strings-attached sex, which led me first to OK Cupid and Match.com, where I had little success, then to Craigslist and its Casual Encounters.
I had hooked up exactly twice via ads therein, once by replying to an ad (“NSA sex? I’m your man!”) and the other time by running an ad of my own (“Smart, sexy chick seeks penis with dumb, hot owner”). Both times I’d arranged to meet the guy at a bar first, then we moved back to my apartment for some naked fun. For the record, the “dumb, hot owner” wasn’t really that dumb or that hot, but he was hung, hard and enthusiastic. Nevertheless, those two encounters had served to convince me that I needed to look for something less physical and more cerebral in a sex partner. After finally bending to the will of my girlfriends and reading Fifty Shades of Grey, I began to think it might be interesting to explore a relationship as a submissive. I devoured a dozen more such novels. The romance I could do without, but I was inexplicably drawn to the dynamic of a woman being under the control of a man. Unlike those books, I didn’t want to save a man from his pain, I wanted him to save me from mine. I knew nothing about such things apart from what I’d read in erotica, and I was smart enough to realize most of that was probably wrong. So that lead me back to Craigslist in an attempt to discover what the real thing looked like.
This new ad, the one from the billionaire, appeared in the man-looking-for-woman section of Casual Encounters, and wasn’t the first one I’d seen seeking a submissive. The others, however, contained paragraph after paragraph explaining exactly what was expected of the woman lucky enough to be chosen. Some had bullet points (“absolutely no urinating or defecating without first asking permission”), and one even had a goddamn chart. The one I was currently looking at, though, was elegant in its brevity, sexy in its succinctness. I was intrigued by its lack of information.
I was also taken by the instruction to send “ONE” picture, not several. Another way of weeding out people who couldn’t or wouldn’t follow instructions. That meant the responder, the applicant, would be forced to choose a single image that would represent her to her potential future dom. Multiple pictures would have allowed for a variety, chosen from head shots, body shots, casual shots hanging with friends, risque shots, nude shots, explicit shots, etc. Nope, this guy wanted you to pick the ultimate “This is who I am” picture, most likely because he was interested in how a woman responding to his ad thinks of herself.
All of these thoughts running through my head had me excited. I clicked on the “reply” button and a new message window opened in my Gmail. When I failed to come up with something to say, though, I realized I was woefully unprepared for such a relationship, and certainly not ready to respond to the ad just yet.
I left my computer and drove to work, my thoughts preoccupied with this mysterious billionaire dom and what it would be like to apply for that job, to interview, to actually take part in a relationship of that kind. I imagined myself in various scenarios, being ordered to do things by a powerful man. This impulse was new to me; I don’t recall ever thinking along those lines before. Where was all this coming from?
The picture of the woman in the MAX car lingered in my mind throughout the day. Did the photographer know her
? Was he or she a professional who had hired a model to do this, catching the other light-rail riders off-guard? Or was it merely someone who had their cell phone handy at a moment when an anonymous commuter was in the midst of a wardrobe malfunction? I wondered about the moments leading up to the picture, and especially about those coming after it was taken. Did someone politely point out that she was exposing herself? If so, did she remedy the situation or was she doing it on purpose and ignored the advice?
As I drove home, something occurred to me: The woman in the picture might have been a submissive of the man who ran the ad. Perhaps she was carrying out his orders by exposing herself to total strangers in that manner. Maybe he even took the picture personally. I thought of myself in that situation, having been instructed to open my blouse and expose a breast in a MAX car, pretending to not notice my partial nudity while simultaneously being the object of everyone’s incredulous stares. I was equal parts frightened and excited; terrified at the idea of exposing myself and excited by being ordered to do so by a powerful man. Could I actually do something like that? I doubted it. You’d have to love your body to invite strangers to look at it, and I certainly didn’t fit that description.
After dinner, I felt the need, the compulsion, to re-read the ad and look at the photo again. When I went to Craigslist and clicked on the link, my heart sank:
This posting has been deleted by its author.
After the momentary disappointment, I checked my email and realized that in the morning I’d opened a response window in Gmail to send a reply to the maybe-billionaire dom. That email window was still there, waiting for my reply to the ad. I had no idea whether he would receive it or not, since the email went to a temporary Craigslist address and then would hopefully be forwarded to him. But there was a chance, at least, and I needed to act quickly if I were going to do this. I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to send a reply; even if he responded, I could always back out before or after meeting him.
How could I write a message that would separate me from the many other women who would certainly respond? A man like this would likely find intelligence attractive, so I had that going for me. I could simply out-think most of the others. I composed a carefully considered message, trying to find the right words and the perfect approach to catch this guy’s eye, to get into his brain. After several stops and restarts, I eventually deleted most of what I’d written and arrived at something I thought might do the trick. Following his lead of quality over quantity, I kept things extremely short:
I can’t get your ad out of my mind.
I keep seeing myself in that picture.
Rachel
Now came the hard part, choosing which picture to send him, which me to employ to introduce myself. Here’s the thing: I’m far from perfect. At 5’6” and 185 pounds, I’m not exactly Barbie. As a busty size 14, I attract attention for what I feel are the wrong reasons: my old-school hourglass figure and the size of my breasts. The problem with choosing one picture is that I had no idea what this man wanted. Did he want a nude, body-only picture? A chaste, face-only shot? As I considered the dilemma, I imagined what most women would likely send. I guessed there would be boudoir pics and sheer lingerie from the Fifty Shades crowd, and leather and chains from the more serious BDSM devotees. I refused to take either of those routes, and I certainly wasn’t going to send him a naked picture. I thought again about my new interpretation of the woman exposing herself in the MAX car — that she hadn’t done that by choice, but because she had been ordered to.
This man wanted a blank canvas, someone he could mold to his liking.
I chose a simple photo taken at a work function as a joke. I was professionally dressed, wearing a skirt and heels. I’d just had my hair done that afternoon and it looked gorgeous, long thick curly black locks cascading down over my shoulders toward a decent, though still professional, amount of cleavage. I had been in the hospitality suite of a ritzy hotel and I just happened to be surrounded by eight well-dressed men. My slate blue eyes looked huge set against the pale skin of my face, and there was just a hint of a lascivious smile on my ruby red lips. If that didn’t get his imagination whirring, I didn’t know what would. I attached the picture to my email, then hit send. For the next ten minutes, I kept refreshing my inbox, waiting for a message from Craigslist to inform me that the ad had been deleted and my message would not be delivered.
When I didn’t get such a message, I began to panic. What had I done? I was fascinated by the idea of submitting myself to the whims of a powerful man. The reality, though, might well be something I couldn’t handle.
I felt better after again reminding myself that I probably wouldn’t be chosen, and that even if I were, I didn’t have to follow through and actually meet this man. Thinking of it less as a possible reality and more as a simple, tentative exploration of my own curiosity, I waited to see if he would respond.
And waited.
Read the rest of Forced to Bloom.
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Also by Alexis Adaire
Forced to Bloom — Rachel Malinsky wasn't certain the ad she was responding to was actually placed by a billionaire. Nor did she know if this man would be interested in her very curvy body. Hell, she wasn't even sure she even wanted to be a submissive to begin with. From the moment he started instructing her to do things that terrified her, though, such as stripping for him on video or exposing a breast in public, she was hooked. Now if she only knew who he was or what he looked like…
The Billionaires' Executive Sweet — Chelsea Broussard couldn't decide which was worse: her sexual drought or her low-paying job. After randomly meeting a billionaire who promised to change her life, she would be forced to choose between her old status quo and a new mysterious life as a plaything for five rich executives — a job that would surely lead her to some extremely exciting, very bizarre places.
Seducing My Billionaire Stepbrother — Ashley never thought of her tech genius billionaire stepbrother in that way until the day she accidentally saw him naked, but in that instant both of their lives were changed forever because she couldn’t get Jared's gorgeous, well-endowed body off her mind. Despite it being taboo and forbidden, she became consumed by lust and wanted only to get utterly filthy with her brother. Standing in Ashley’s way was Jared's vile bitch of a fiancée, Heather, but Ashley planned to crash his raunchy bachelor party wearing a mask and seduce him. Hey, what could possibly go wrong? It's not like she would fall in love her own stepbrother, right?
Sex Education: A Woman's Awakening — Rebecca Beiler, a 26-year-old Amish widow, inadvertently sees a pornographic magazine image that spurs in her a dormant desire for sex. One thing leads to another until she's forced to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, one that will lead her to dark recesses of the sexual underground and compel her to do things the likes of which she'd never imagined herself capable.
Probed: The Trilogy — Unimpressed and uninspired, Amy Collins was resigned to a life of dating boring men who were mediocre in the bedroom — until a chance meeting with an otherworldly being changed everything. With Z, Amy discovers pleasures she had never imagined she wanted, but would this visitor to Earth ultimately prove to be more man than she could handle?
Conquered — A sexy Halloween party in Beverly Hills provides the perfect setting for two total strangers to indulge in a little steamy historical roleplay. Helen of Troy finds herself totally dominated by alpha male King Leonidas of Sparta and gives in to the fantasy, submitting to her king's every desire, and Leonidas lustfully ravishes Helen as only a handsome, virile warrior c
an.
The Minotaur and the Maiden — Beautiful young aristocrat Antonia Crivelli was betrothed to the heir of an equally wealthy family, and their arranged marriage was the talk of 15th century Venice. Antonia was content to fantasize about what her marriage bed would be like, until a chance encounter with a shipyard blacksmith lures her into a world of passion and possibly even physical danger. Would Tavros's dark secret scare Antonia away or draw her close enough to him to jeopardize her upcoming nuptials?
The Devil Inside Me — Caitlyn Mathis doesn't know what to do when her younger sister falls dangerously ill and all her prayers go unanswered. When a mysterious stranger enters her life with an offer of help, Caitlyn has to decide whether her sister's life is worth the price she'll have to pay. That decision leads to an encounter that is nearly as dark and terrifying as it is hot and passionate.
About the Author
Living in the Pacific Northwest, Alexis Adaire spends too much time indoors, cuddling under blankets with her husband and muse, emerging from the bedroom periodically to refill her coffee mug and jot down ideas. Does Alexis draw upon personal experience for her short story ideas? She will never tell.
Alexis keeps her twisted identity separate from her everyday life; no one knows what debauchery lies behind her violet eyes. Although, she admits this double-life she leads — mild-mannered office worker by day and erotica novelist by night — keeps a glow to her cheeks and a sly smile to her lips!
Sleeping With the Enemy Page 24
