What's Her Secret?

by Geraldine O'Hara, Natalie Dae, Nichelle Gregory, Crissy Smith, Lisabet Sarai

  As he continued to soothe and pet me, the sickness and vertigo faded, to be replaced by a sense of complete well-being. Bit by bit, I emerged from a self-centered preoccupation with my own feelings to become aware of him—the heat emanating from his bare skin, the strength coiled in his lanky frame, the delicious way his chest hair tickled my breasts when he leaned over to kiss me yet again. He smelled like fresh herbs and tasted as rich and sweet as my crème brûlée. I wanted to gorge myself on that succulent mouth of his. As he sensed my quickening response, however, he let his lips wander, first to my throat, then down to my tingling nipples, where he licked and sucked until he had me squirming. I tried to pull him closer but he circled my wrists with his big hands and pressed them back against the mattress.

  “You’ve had your fun, dragon lady.” His playfully malevolent chuckle—along with the inexorable strength of his grip—sent shivers down my spine. “Now I’m taking over.”

  His cock had been mostly erect when he’d stepped out of his jeans and first revealed it to me. Now it poked against my pubis, outrageously hard and heavy. I wriggled under him, struggling to realign that swollen shaft with my now-well-lubricated cleft. He just held me tighter. I arched up, straining to capture him between my thighs, to draw him into my wetness. A quick jerk of his pelvis flipped his cockhead against my exposed clit. I gasped as electric pleasure sizzled through me. He grinned, his honey-dark eyes dancing behind his glasses.

  “Feeling better, Emily?”

  “Oh—oh yeah—oh my God…!” Without releasing my wrists, he’d somehow managed to grab one taut nipple in his teeth and pull. My clitoris throbbed in sympathy.

  “I thought you weren’t feeling up to sex right now.”

  “Please, Harry—oh!—don’t tease!”

  “Do you want something, Ms Wong?”

  He had such damnably good control over his muscles! By tensing and releasing his glutes, he ran his shaft back and forth between my slick lower lips—carefully avoiding deeper penetration. I wanted to scream.

  “Damn it, Harry! You know what I want. Your cock in my cunt! Now!”

  “Oh, really? I think I can arrange that. Just a minute, though. Don’t move—or I might change my mind.”

  He rolled off me, letting go of my arms. I heard myself whimper in frustration, but I held still as he’d ordered.

  The twenty seconds it took for him to unroll a condom over his gorgeous cock might have been the longest in my life. I thanked the old gods I’d thrown a few packages in with my makeup and shampoo—and that Harry’d been observant enough to notice. Finally he returned. In one smooth, sure movement, he mounted my prone form and slid his cock in where it belonged.

  I know it’s a cliché, but I honestly felt the earth move. Maybe San Francisco was finally getting hit by the Big One. I didn’t care. With Harry plowing my hungry pussy, I’d die happy.

  With my arms wrapped around his back and my legs around his waist, I held on for dear life. Hard, fast, full—he gave me exactly what I craved. I gave it back to him, arching into each thrust to take him deeper, clenching around his bulk to keep him inside me.

  His grassy summer scent surrounded me, mingled with the sharper reek of sex. He nuzzled the tender, treacherous spot below my ear, sending bolts of lightning to my clit and making me wonder just how someone I’d met only yesterday could understand my body so well.

  My fingernails carved symmetric crescents into his firm butt cheeks. His teeth left bruises on my shoulder. We bucked and writhed together, the sheets tangled around our legs. We came close to tumbling out of the bed entirely. Yet at the core of all this ferocious carnality lay a quiet peace such as I hadn’t known since I was a child. I didn’t have to do anything but be myself. No schemes, no striving, no need to convince anyone of anything. Harry knew me, and against all odds, I seemed to know him as well. We were connected, and not just by our sweaty, straining flesh.

  A searing, breath-stealing release was simply inevitable. We took our time getting there. When at last he exploded inside me, I went supernova, my body vaporizing into pure white heat.

  * * * *

  The next thing I knew, morning sunlight was filtering through the blinds. My muscles ached as though I’d run a marathon. The bed looked like it had been hit by a tornado. And aside from my bruised, sticky body, it was empty.

  “Harry?”

  No answer.

  A pang of anxiety shot through me. His clothes were draped over the back of the desk chair, though, so unless he’d decided to wander the San Francisco streets au naturel, he was probably in close proximity.

  Sure enough, the individual in question emerged from the bathroom, gloriously nude, drying his sculpted chest. I wanted to be his towel.

  “Emily! You’re awake!” He seated himself on the edge of the bed and rubbed the terrycloth over his dripping black ringlets. “I was a bit worried, actually. You were dead to the world.”

  I ran my palm over his swelling biceps. They felt every bit as good as they looked. “Sorry. Not very polite of me to conk out immediately after the best sex of my life. Must have been the booze. I didn’t even say thank you. So I will now.” I slipped my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. “Thank you, Harry. For everything.”

  He returned my kiss with all the enthusiasm I expected. In fact, the next thing I knew, he was on top of me.

  “Wait! You’re all clean, but I probably reek.” I struggled—half-heartedly, I’ll admit—to free myself.

  He kept me pinned. “I don’t care. I like the way you smell. I like everything about you, Madame Chef.” His brash fingers explored my rapidly moistening pussy. “And the evidence suggests you like me, too.”

  “I have to admit that I do. But what about breakfast? I’m ravenous. Aren’t you?”

  Sliding down the length of my body, he nudged my thighs apart to expose my pulsing clit. He licked his lips, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Oh yes. Definitely.”

  About the Author

  I became addicted to words at an early age. I began reading when I was four. I wrote my first story at five years old and my first poem at seven. Since then, I’ve written plays, tutorials, marketing brochures, software specifications, self-help books, press releases, a five-hundred-page dissertation and, of course, erotica. I’m the author of four erotic novels and two short story collections. I also edited the groundbreaking anthology Sacred Exchange, which explores the spiritual aspects of BDSM relationships, and the massive collection Cream: The Best of the Erotic Readers and Writers Association. My short stories have appeared in more than two dozen print collections edited by erotica luminaries such as M. Christian, Maxim Jakubowski, Mitzi Szereto, Rachel Kramer Bussel and Alison Tyler.

  My lifelong interests in sex and the written word became serendipitously entwined about a decade ago when I read my first Black Lace book by Portia da Costa. Her work inspired me to take my fantasies out of the closet (and the private email files) and expose them to the world. The rest, as they say, is history (although, granted, no more than a minor footnote!).

  I’ve always loved travelling—my husband seduced me in a Burmese restaurant by telling me tales of his foreign adventures. Since then I have visited every continent except Australia, although I still have a long travel wish list. Currently I live with him and our two exceptional felines in Southeast Asia, where I pursue an alternative career that is completely unrelated to my creative writing.

  Email: lisabet@lisabetsarai.com

  Lisabet loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Lisabet Sarai

  Raw Silk

  Incognito

  Serpent’s Kiss

  Truce of Trust

  Necessary Madness

  Fire in the Blood

  Hot Spell

  Quarantine

  Rajasthani Moon

  Bound Brits: Getaway Girl

  Brit Party: Monsoon Fever

>   Brits in Time: Shortest Night

  Gaymes: Crossed Hearts

  Master Me: The Understudy

  Seeing Stars: Bodies of Light

  Treble: Wild About That Thing

  Switch: Mastering Maya

  Tied to the Billionaire: Challenge to Him

  Halloween Heart-throbs: Rendezvous

  Christmas Spirits: Tomorrow’s Gifts

  Yule Be Mine: Almost Home

  SECRET IDENTITY

  Stacey Lynn Rhodes

  Dedication

  For Inger. After all the time we’ve spent together having coffee,

  there’s no one else I could have dedicated this one to!

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Candy Crush: King.com Ltd

  Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation

  Chapter One

  Sienna steered her car into a parking space a few blocks from her destination. Transit wasn’t really an option this time of day but luckily she had her choice of on-street parking due to the hour. It was a dark part of the city, and at this forgotten time of the morning not another car or person was to be seen. Not the greatest neighborhood for her to be walking around in, but whatever.

  She flipped down the visor to take a quick look, and when the light popped on, she had a jolt of surprise to see her real self staring back at her. It was definitely the easiest undercover role Sienna had ever gotten into character for. The sad truth was, as one of the few female detectives in her precinct and with a talent for successfully immersing herself in whatever persona was needed, she got assigned mostly to white-collar crime cases. Her usual role was to cozy up to big business types as their new assistant or other office worker. Sienna had also done her time in Vice doing prostitution sting ops.

  This time she was going to take over a coffee shop as a barista-slash-business manager for the owner, her dear ‘Uncle Harlan’, who had suddenly needed to leave town due to a family illness. In reality, Harlan Coffman had been arrested the day before—a cog in the bigger wheel of a huge potential drug bust—and if he continued to cooperate, would likely be disappearing into protective custody until after arrests and trials of the main players.

  Harlan’s arrest had come about after a simple visit for questioning by Sienna and her partner at his home the day before. Too many small arrests had been linked back to Harlan or his shop in various ways, so they’d decided to see if they could rattle him by a surprise visit at his home. He’d already appeared frightened and stressed when they’d arrived, and when they’d identified themselves, he’d broken down. They’d immediately taken him downtown to continue the interview at the station, and he’d been more than forthcoming…except in linking his small-potatoes distribution end of the operation with the manufacturer and ringleader.

  Since then, they’d gotten a warrant to search his residence and phone records. Nothing had yet borne fruit in positively identifying who he was working for. But they’d come to the conclusion that, with all the time Harlan spent at the coffee shop, there had to be some contact there—some connection. They needed a person on the inside to find out what was happening in order to wrap this case up and guarantee a conviction and an end to the growing problem.

  So the tats and piercings Sienna usually had to hide or downplay were suddenly an acceptable part of—and even an asset to—her character’s appearance. She could style her hair any way she wanted and wear her own wardrobe. And after her experience working as a barista in college, that didn’t need a crash course to learn. In short, she was made for this particular role, and she was looking forward to it.

  Sienna grabbed her messenger bag-cum-purse then got out of the car and took a quick look around. A couple of homeless people leaned in recessed doorways, probably asleep. The sight made her sad but not nervous. She could handle herself and they were just trying to get a night’s sleep under cover from the intermittent showers. She locked up behind her and began to walk purposefully toward Primo Café through the light fog, hoping to time her arrival with that of the employee she’d be working with.

  Harlan’s note to his main employee and assistant manager, Jay Ayers, gave the story that his mother had taken a turn for the worse and he’d need to be on the East Coast for an undetermined amount of time. In the meantime, his niece Sienna, who was between jobs, had agreed to come take over the business and help Jay out. Harlan closed by saying he could be best reached by email as he’d usually have his phone off as per hospital rules. Of course, both the inbox and his phone were being monitored by the department.

  She knew the area around the café inside and out, having done surveillance and research in the weeks leading up to Coffman’s arrest. She’d even taken it upon herself to go into the shop for coffee a few times to assess the layout and meet the assistant. So even though she’d been thrown into this undercover job last minute with minimal planning and even less intel, she felt confident that she could hold her own, both in keeping her cover and gaining the trust of the people associated with the café. If her boss ever got her the damn associated case files that would help immensely. But it wasn’t anything new to have a hard time getting permissions or information from her boss. Sienna had learned to wing it.

  Better to apologize than to beg.

  She checked her phone as she strode down the last block toward the café. Almost four a.m.. Right on time to be there for the start of Jay’s shift.

  Thank God she was a morning person.

  From the information they’d gotten from Harlan, the alley door was alarmed so the staff always came and went through the front door. After a few minutes of trial and error, Sienna had the security gate unlocked and rolled back and the front door open.

  She had just stepped inside and was hunting for the lights—it was a rather dark section of the block—when a wary voice came from behind her.

  “Can I help you?”

  Sienna turned. “You must be Jay Ayers.” She offered her hand, which he slowly took to shake. “I’m Sienna Coffman.”

  “Coffman?” Dueling expressions of dawning comprehension and worry crossed his face.

  “I’m Harlan’s niece. I thought he told you I was coming?”

  Jay frowned and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind them. “No, sorry.”

  “Oh.” She feigned puzzlement, but of course, he hadn’t been inside yet to get the planted note. “Well, I’m sure he meant to. He had to leave town suddenly. His mom’s not doing well. I offered to come help out here until he gets back.” She made sure to have steady eye contact to counteract the load of bullshit she was feeding him. “He gave me his keys and said to be here at four. Said you know everything there is to know.”

  Which was why he was one of the primary people Sienna would be watching.

  Jay still looked a bit suspicious, and that in turn pricked Sienna’s instincts. She would bide her time, though, and she made her expression as open and guileless as possible. Sienna knew she looked at least a decade younger than her thirty-six years, especially in her current wardrobe of layered tanks that exposed her shoulder and back tattoos, baggy khaki cargo shorts and black boots. She’d gleefully maxed out on visible piercings, sporting six earrings and a cuff on each ear, a silver lip ring, a matching ring in her eyebrow and her birthstone amethyst nose stud.

  Her styling was total counterculture, Portland hipster barista. So…basically, herself.

  Jay had made his way to the elusive switch and turned on recessed lights around the edge of the room. He gave her a quick once-over now that it was easier to see, his eyes lingering on the side of her neck for a moment before his lips quirked in a half-smile. “Come on back then.” He led the way down the hall toward the back, polite enough to not mention the monster hickey she was sporting, courtesy of the hot dance floor make-out session with buff and blond Greg during her trip to the dance club two nights prior.


  Sienna had caught relentless ribbing from her partner Tyson and the other support personnel yesterday. Even though she was single and no saint, she usually had more self-respect than to allow that kind of teenaged branding. But when Greg had come up behind her and wrapped her in his embrace then run his lips down along her neck, she hadn’t been able to help cocking her head to the side, giving him tacit approval to do what he wanted. And obviously what he’d wanted was to mark her well into next week while he’d worked magic with his hands under cover of her clothing.

  Actually, she’d be lucky if his bite marks and hickies faded by then. Especially the big one he’d sucked up while she’d come against his hand…

  Sienna flushed at the memory of falling apart right there in his arms on the dance floor. Clearing her throat, she pulled her focus back to the situation at hand, annoyed with herself at having let her concentration on the job slip. Normally, she didn’t let anything throw her off, but Greg kept seeping into her thoughts.

  “Huh.”

  Jay had picked up the note and was reading it. She waited for him to share the news with her.

  “Letter from your uncle. He basically said what you did. You go by Cici?”

  Those fuckers. “Yeah. Family nickname I kind of hate. Sienna is fine.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like Cici.” Jay was relaxed enough around her now to wink at her, catching her a bit off-guard. Everything that they had on him pointed to him being gay, but maybe he was just friendly. Or bi.

  Or had horrible taste in nicknames.

  She followed his lead and shot him an evil glare. “Use it and die.”

  “Die laughing,” he shot back quickly. He tossed her an apron. “Here you go. We’d better get started on the scones or we’ll never be ready on time. You can hang your bag up here if you want.” He indicated a row of hooks on the wall behind the office door. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a hook then put on the apron he’d taken down from there. She walked over to follow his suggestion then put on her own apron.