by Skylar Kade
Her eyes softened and her hand reached for his. “David—”
He shook his head. “The thought of losing you, even when I never really had you… I couldn’t bear for you to get to the point of burnout, because it would kill something integral to who you are. Seeing that would kill something inside of me too, Care.”
She shifted, wrapped her arms around his torso. God, he needed this, needed her warm, soft body pressed against his so close he didn’t know where he ended and she began.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands like the delicate treasure she was. “I want you to have a love worth living for—mine. I love you, Care. I have for months.” He pressed a fleeting kiss on her forehead.
“But—”
She didn’t get a chance to object further. He consumed her words with his lips, thrilling when she uttered a soft sigh and melted against him instead of arguing.
Her hand found his buttons and eased them from their holes one at a time, then spread the sides of his shirt to expose his chest. He hauled Carrie against himself. Soft breasts pressed against his heart. She settled on top of his erection and snuggled against him. Damn, he could feel her heat through his jeans.
With a groan he broke the kiss to strip her out of her top. The expanse of pale skin framed by tan lines made his mouth water. His mouth descended to lick and nibble her neck. He left a trail of goose bumps in his wake.
Little whimpers impelled him to remove her bra and take one waiting nipple into his mouth.
“More.” She gasped and urged him closer with hands against his neck.
He loved how demanding she was in the bedroom, taking what she needed and leaving intense pleasure in return.
He sucked harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth before he pressed his teeth into her smooth skin. She jolted in his arms, and his cock twitched along with her. When she writhed her hips against him, his control snapped.
He stood and hauled Carrie into his arms. Her laugh was carefree as he made for the bedroom.
God, he could listen to that sound and be a happy man forever. He deposited her on the bed and stepped back, reaching for some modicum of control. “Strip.”
She arched a sassy eyebrow at him and slid her hands from her neck, down her torso, over her breasts and taut abdomen, to reach her waistband. He groaned and shed his pants and boxers.
“Decided to punish me, huh?” David kept his distance. The grin on her face was worth a little discomfort on his end.
She licked her lips and David clenched his fists to avoid touching her.
“I wouldn’t call it a punishment, per se. It’s more a reinforcement.” She caught his gaze. Her intent look probably would have been more effective if she hadn’t already dazed him. “I need to trust you’ll be honest with me, even with the tough stuff.” She swallowed and slid out of her pants.
He moved to the edge of the bed and sank to his knees. The view was perfect.
Carrie snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. He shifted his gaze to her and reveled in her quiet beauty. “If you ever hide from me again, David, and expect me to be the only one exposed, it’ll break me.”
David reached for her body and stroked a hand up her leg, along her waist and up her side until he cupped her face in his palm. “I promise.”
His thumb slipped across her lips. Her tongue darted out to flick across the tip. He shuddered and somehow regained enough control to finish what he’d started.
“But—” he stressed, and her growing smile froze, “—that implies we have a future together to begin with.”
She went still, and he rested a hand against her heart. “Yes, it does.” Her voice, solemn and a little afraid, jabbed at him.
“Damn right it does. I love you, Carrie Farrow.” She might never return the words, but he could no longer hold them back.
She started, faltered and tried again. A tremor racked her body. “I’m scared.”
He covered her body with his, then parted her legs and settled between them. She shivered.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer. “I also promise to hold you every time you fear something.”
She nodded. He swiveled his hips against her, and she sucked in a breath as he dragged the tip of his erection across her clit.
“What if I lose you?” Her words held years of pain. He kissed her to take her sorrow onto his shoulders. Her arms encircled his neck and kept him close, even after his lips left hers.
“I can’t promise you won’t.”
Her eyes closed in pain. He nuzzled her hair and imprinted this moment on his memory. The light citrus smell of her shampoo, the way her body cradled him…
“I’m just as terrified to lose you. But what I can promise is I will love you every moment I’m on this earth.”
The love in her eyes pinned him in place. “Make love to me, David.”
That’ll do. His heart burst, and he held her close as he slipped inside her and moved slowly, gently, until her nails scored down his arms.
She tightened around him, and her moans jumped up an octave. She sounded so close…
She pulled him down for a kiss. Her tongue dipped into his mouth, danced with his. She tasted like his future.
He tilted her hips and thrust deeper, but never broke from her lips. No kiss had ever aroused him so much. This was one for the history books.
“David, more!”
What could he do but obey? His pace kicked up until she quivered in his arms. Yes became her chant to the rhythm of his hips, and she tensed beneath him, then came with a beautiful cry.
As she shook, her core clenched around him until he lost control and followed her into mindless release.
“Did you mean it?” Carrie asked once they’d both caught their breath.
He rolled to the side and snuggled her against his side. “Every word. Always. And so you don’t forget it—” he reached into his bedside table and snagged the little box he’d hidden there earlier, “—you can wear this to remind yourself.”
With an arched eyebrow, she pulled off the lid to the white box. “It’s beautiful!”
The copper starfish had made him think of her—the color of her hair, her resiliency. When he’d seen it at the aquarium earlier, he knew she had to have it. “Let me put it on you.”
Her eager hands pushed the box at him. She turned and lifted her hair from her neck. Fiddling with the clasp, he finally separated the sides, draped it over her head and kissed her neck before he latched it into place.
“I love it.”
He sprinkled kisses on her skin, so thankful she had let him in.
She shifted so she could rest her head against his heart and linked their hands together. The silence stretched into infinity and contentment flooded his body.
On the edge of sleep, happier than he’d been in his whole life, she whispered in his ear.
“I love you too, David. You can bet on that.”
About the Author
Skylar Kade, self-avowed hedonist and princess extraordinaire, started her writing career after throwing aside yet another romance she could not bring herself to finish. The run-on sentences! The purple prose! Oh, the horror of it was just too much. So she sat down to write her own tale. Her favorite part about writing is the extensive research.
She currently resides in sunny Southern California, alternately cursing the polluted air and adoring the weather. Skylar spends her time asking the cabana boys to bring her more mimosas and feed her strawberries while she dreams up her next naughty adventure.
You can sign up for her newsletter, keep up with new releases and more at www.skylarkade.com.
Skylar blogs at the SkylarVerse: skylarkade.wordpress.com and with the Nine Naughty Novelists: www.naughtynine.com
You can also find her on:
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorskylarkade
Twitter: www.twitter.com/skylarkade
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/skylarkade
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/skylarkad
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Look for these titles by Skylar Kade
Now Available:
The Maison Chronicles
Maison Domine
His Only Hope
Coming Soon:
Playing with Fire
This time, he’s not giving her up without a fight.
His Only Hope
© 2011 Skylar Kade
After two grueling years caring for her terminally ill mother, Hope O’Shea is eager to start fresh. Except her first interior-decorating job is for a popular BDSM club—part of her kinky past she misses, but had to leave behind.
Worse, she somehow ends up in the arms of her ex-Dom, Gabriel Cassidy. The one man who could strip her emotions bare, so bare that rather than reveal her painful history, she ran.
Gabriel never understood why Hope left without even a goodbye. Determined to get answers, he entices her to Maison Domine for a weekend on the promise of meeting the owner for another decorating job. Except being with her again reminds him why he loved her in the first place—and why she shouldn’t trust him as her Dom.
As their attraction reignites, Hope is transported back to the sub-space bliss she felt only with Gabe. Then a nightmare from her past shows up at the club, and with no other safe place to turn, she has no choice but to trust Gabe with her shame. Leaving Gabe with a devastating choice—reveal his last secret…or lose his Hope.
Warning: This book contains a feisty interior decorator, a dominating leather worker, heart-wrenching sex and redemption.
Enjoy the following excerpt for His Only Hope:
Hope O’Shea thought she’d never set foot in The Sunset Strip ever again. She’d been out of the scene for two years, which had been good for her. She shivered, remembering the handful of times she’d come here.
On her return to LA, Melina, the Mistress who owned the popular BDSM nightclub, contacted her to redesign the whole place. Dammit, the things she did for old friends and new clients.
This Saturday night, like most, the club’s otherwise inconspicuous entrance saw an overwhelming amount of foot traffic. Housed in a ’50s-era office building, it was impossible to guess what the dark brick walls held, so long as one ignored the interesting mix of characters entering and exiting.
Hope shook her head, exorcising thoughts of the past. Strands of newly cut and dyed auburn hair flew into her eyes, and she brushed them away. She missed the convenience of ponytails, but her stylist assured her the shorter hair was “chic and professional”.
“It’s now or never, Hope.” She nodded at her reflection in the visor mirror and used the lure of a giant paycheck to shore up her courage before leaving the safety of her SUV.
Her spike heels, three inches high and fire-truck red, clicked on the pavement from the large parking lot across the street to the club entrance. Clammy hands smoothed invisible wrinkles out of her new black pantsuit. It wasn’t proper scene attire, but it would have to do, because even if her old corsets and lingerie hadn’t been too big on her, she wouldn’t have worn something seductive for a business meeting.
The red French doors loomed ahead and an invisible weight settled on her chest. Despite her work with a therapist and her progress, panic attacks still loomed like storm clouds.
Too tense, that was her. She poured herself into work, eschewing any distractions in order to build her client list. Maybe once she had her business up and running she could try to find vanilla recreations.
But no more BDSM. No more vulnerability.
She eyed the club and appreciated the irony. Myriad outlets for her anxiety could be hers for the night, if only she asked.
As nice as one night of submission might be, it would be a step backward. It would be her relying on someone other than herself.
One of Melina’s security team, decked out in leather pants and black T-shirt, opened the door for her. A quick thanks and she was inside, heading down the short hall to the main office. She wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, before temptation overruled her better sense.
The door was open, but Mel was not there.
She cursed Mel for insisting that they meet during her busiest night so Hope could get a feel for how the club had grown and understand how to meet its new design needs.
She always met clients face-to-face the first time. Body language told a much richer story than words, and tapping into those cues made her a better designer, often fulfilling the intangible, unspoken goals of her clients. Once she tackled this meeting, she could return during the week to sketch her first round of suggested renovations and décor updates. No loud music, no BDSM and fewer flashbacks to the pleasures she’d had here.
If she’d been able to just meet with Melina in her office and leave, Hope could have managed. She was in her element during client meetings. But instead, she’d have to go traipsing through the club.
Hope dug her fingernails into her palms, letting the pain sap away some of her nerves.
She returned to the main entryway and gave her name to the gatekeeper, the man sitting behind an innocuous little desk who vetted members and guests before they were allowed to enter the main club.
“Ah, Ms. O’Shea. Mistress said you’d be coming by around ten. She’s in the far back room, the Victorian one. She said you’d know the way.” He opened the door into the dark main room of the club, revealing little except ear-popping music and the occasional flash of skin.
The air vibrated with pounding music. She knew Doms were flogging to the driving base beat, and subs had their blood thumping along with each thud of leather on skin. Her nose twitched at the memory of being latched to the whipping post in the main room and flogged for all to see. She’d loved it then, would probably love it now.
Not that she’d be confirming her theory.
Club Sunset’s main room housed a stage full of rigging equipment and larger props. Tables and chairs were scattered around it, and the bar along the left wall was doing brisk business. Men took her measure—she could feel their eyes crawling up her jacket-covered spine—and she purposefully scanned the room to avoid their curious and hungry looks.
On the opposite wall, several vendors had set up shop. Nothing like the club scene to make you want that third—or tenth—flogger. In the corner opposite the entrance, a hall and staircase led to smaller playrooms. She bee-lined for the hall, not meeting any eyes or looking around too much. She’d seen it all before—too much exposed flesh, warm red patches on the backs and thighs and breasts of subs, boys playing at being dominant, and the occasional Dom whose very aura demanded submission from the submissives around him.
That’s how Gabriel Cassidy had been, dominant to the core. Impossible to resist.
The music swallowed her wry laugh as bittersweet memories found her, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw Gabe heading up the stairs. Hope’s heart stuttered and she dug her nails into her hands once more, willing the apparition away.
According to her recent phone call to Melina, Gabe left California shortly after their breakup. Mel had mentioned he was doing something on the East Coast, but she’d had no inclination to discover the specifics, despite the woman’s knowing voice tempting her otherwise.
Relief flooded her as she reached the more confined space of the hall and she paused to savor it, running her hand through her hair and grimacing when she hit shoulder instead. She still wasn’t used to this short haircut.
Hope was a visual person; sounds didn’t evoke the same memories as did the accoutrements of the club or a live scene. Maybe she could stay in the hall and wait for Melina to come her way.
She moved to readjust her glasses, only remembering she now wore contacts when her finger hit the bridge of her nose. Another suggestion from her stylist. Hope appreciated the polished look, though she missed the comfort of the so-called “fashion rut” she’d been in. It certainly would have been reassuring tonight.
Moans and whimpers and the sounds of impact play drifted through the open doors lining the long hall that ended at t
he Victorian room, painted a royal purple and presiding over the smaller, less-ornate rooms.
Two men left from one of the closer doors and made their way to her, walking side by side down the narrow hall. Though barely taller than her—with the heels—they probably each outweighed her by fifty pounds of muscle. The one closest nearly crashed into her as he passed.
“Oh, excuse me,” she murmured, rubbing her now-aching shoulder.
He whirled on his heel and invaded her personal space. “What was that, slave?”
God help her if these two were the high-protocol, high-on-dominance kind. She dropped her gaze to the floor, just in case. “Uh, excuse me?”
His body and arms caged her in against the wall. “The proper response is, ‘I apologize, Master.’ And you should have moved out of the way or been on your knees in the first place. Snotty cunt, aren’t you. I know what girls like you need.” He ground his erection into her belly.
For a moment, he sounded like Joseph, her first and only Master. Before Gabe, before she knew better.
Evil visions of that past clawed at her brain and she gasped for breath as if she’d been socked in the stomach.
The asshole turned to his buddy. “Ah, see, she does like it.” One meaty hand latched on to her arm in a bruising grip while the other wrapped around her neck.
Hope drowned in panic and spots danced across her vision. “Blue,” she rasped out, the house safe word for “stop right now”.
“Blue? Slut, the only blue I know is black and blue. Like your ass is gonna be when I’m done teaching you respect for your betters.” His evil cackle raked down her spine.
“Safe word,” she choked out.
The other man joined in the laughter.
“Oh look, the uppity slave thinks she can tell me what to do.” His hand released her arm to reach down her blouse and pinch a nipple.
Hope’s eyes watered in pain and humiliation and nightmares of Master Joseph.
