Ren Noletta, a bookkeeper, steps into a shop just to purchase a costume for a Halloween party. It’s just a routine day, in a beige-constricted world of her monotonous, predictable life. But that’s about to change. What Ren ends up getting is a hot dressing-room encounter with a man—a sexy stranger—who opens up a whole new world to her. A world she’s eager to embrace.
Ariyel Esmund is rich, sophisticated, and English—not just any man. He offers Ren a chance to explore her more submissive erotic nature, teaches her things, takes her further into his world of white leather, and at each step, she finds herself without second thoughts, with no regret.
Then the texture of Ren’s world turns even richer, and darker, when Ariyel introduces her to his passionate and mysterious colleague, Creed Bennett. As Ren begins her sexual odyssey with both men, she soon learns that rules are never set in stone...there’s always room for negotiation, and boundaries shift far too readily between love and desire, and pleasure and pain...
This story is a work of original fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.
This book remains the copyrighted property of the author.
Copyright 2017 by Adrianna Dane
Cover Art Designs by T. A. Gallup
This story was originally released in August 2012 by Amber Quill Press/Amber Heat
CAUTION: This story contains explicit sexual situations and strong language. You must be over the age of 18 years of age to read this story.
White Leather
And
No Regrets
By Adrianna Dane
Dream Romantic Unlimited, LLC
Table of Contents
White Leather and No Regrets
Author Bio
Networking Links
White Leather and No Regrets
Submissive. Ren’s mind was quiet; she was at ease with her choices. Surrounded by the scents of rosemary, sage, and lavender, the world she had once known beyond the wrought iron gates of the sprawling estate seemed far removed from her current situation. Ren stood in the center of the well-maintained, luxurious greenery. Her clothes were neatly folded on a snow white chair near the white-washed iron arch.
Exposed. She was exposed in every facet within this inner sanctum. The petals of her soul brilliantly opened, lovingly tended, demandingly nurtured. Exposed, yet protected. Outside influences no longer carried weight in Ren’s life. Ren’s focus had narrowed to that which had become most important to her. She focused on the door—the glass door, the door that opened out onto the spacious grounds from the marble steps above. There was heat. Golden heat from the sun bore down upon her skin; a fiery red-hot burning simmered inside her, not yet fully peaked. Her pussy was wet, her thighs damp. The fire, the heat—inside and out—remained constant, ever present. Some days just a slow steady burn, others raging and out of control. Out of her control. That fire inside her was now tended and nurtured by others.
Naked. On the alabaster pebbled path leading to the steps of the mansion, the tiny stones dug into the soles of her bare feet. It was a pleasant pain that spurred a warmth in her blood, soles to calves to thighs to pussy. She stood naked except for some very precisely placed expensive accessories and cosmetics, on the path in front of the white marble steps. The sun still blazed down, and even though her heart raced with being so unusually and vulnerably exposed, she had followed the exactly worded instructions to the letter. She didn’t turn to look when a clock chimed the hour—6:00 P.M. She stared straight ahead, eyes focused on the landing of albescent silver-veined marble, her spine stiff, shoulders back.
Duty. A servant, dressed in starched white and silver, passed by now and again as they prepared for the evening meal, which her master would take at the white wrought iron table setting next to the trellis at the end of the path, verdant vines twining lushly over the structure. None spoke to Ren. In fact, they barely glanced her way, going about their duties, just as she performed hers. No one questioned the rightness or wrongness of the situation, nor the woman exposed and displayed so provocatively at the center of their employer’s beautiful fragrant garden.
Elegance. The elegant silver mask covered three-quarters of her face. She recalled the purchase quite clearly. The day she walked into the costume shop on her lunch hour was a momentous day for Ren. It was the day that started her on her odyssey of self-discovery. It was a journey on that day and in that hour she never in her wildest dreams would have anticipated.
Choice. It was just before Halloween last year, almost eight months before. October the 1st, 12:25 P.M. She had checked her watch to be certain she wouldn’t be late in getting back to work. It began with the choice of ignoring the stranger or…not. The choice had been hers alone. She could not regret the decision—not even now.
* * *
Ren stepped into the Hornfellow Costume Shop on Hornfellow Drive, just three doors down from the dusty offices for Milligan and Cosgrove Construction where she worked as a bookkeeper, keeping track of every tiny nut, bolt, and screw of the small construction firm. She was searching, somewhat reluctantly, for a costume to wear to a co-worker’s costume party and was in the midst of inspecting a black witch’s outfit with a critical eye. Jim, one of the construction foremen, a man of unremarkable looks and cocky manner, had asked her to be his date, and having no other plans, she’d agreed. He’d obviously caught her in a weak moment because under other circumstances she never would have agreed. And yet, here she was.
“Not right for you,” a very suave and cultured male voice said from behind her, breaking into her morose thoughts. The scent wafting over her was not overpowering; it wasn’t the cheap, cloying stuff that Jim wore. This was something else, something divine, something sexual and sensual. It reminded her of strolling along the counters at Saks, knowing she couldn’t possibly afford any of the wonderful colognes and perfumes lining the counters, attended by beautiful young women and handsome young men. Passing the men’s counters, inhaling deeply and fantasizing about the type of man who wore such sophisticated fragrances. Powerful men. Handsome men. Subtle, just a hint of the forceful charisma bound to such a scent. Careful choices, a man who commanded other men. Seduced sexy, star-quality women. She knew it was just that sort of man who stood behind her in the costume shop.
Without turning around, she held the cheap on-sale black witch’s costume up to examine it more closely. His seductive scent settled over her. She tried to dismiss him, but he wasn’t making it easy. She sensed he wasn’t the type of man one kicked to the curb without second thought.
“Try it on if you must, and then you’ll see I’m right,” he said. English, the accent was English. His scent did something to her. It made her wet. So wet she wanted to turn in his direction, like a summons so ancient and primal that she felt weak with the longing.
She fought the instinct, draped the cheap costume over her arm intending to try it on. Knowing he was right; knowing that even if it seemed the right choice when she first looked at it, now it was not. It was inferior, so very inferior. And she didn’t want him to see her in a cheap witch’s costume.
She almost reached up to the tight mousy brown bun bound so demurely at the nape of her neck to smooth her hair. He made her wish she’d spent more time attending to her makeup before leaving the office for lunch. And then she made what some might consider her first mistake. She turned to face him.
“I don’t know you, do I? You think something else might be more appr
opriate?” She tried to hide her unsettling reaction to actually coming face-to-face with him. She’d hoped she would be wrong. That he wouldn’t at all match the intriguing scent that was now indelibly stamped into her psyche. Oh, God, the scent, the sound of his voice, all meshed far too well. He was gorgeous, and she felt herself slowly melting into a puddle, like an ice-sculpture turned to water. Dripping, dripping slowly to puddle at his feet with a thoroughness that almost left her breathless.
He cocked his head as he stepped back. Intense green eyes framed with sooty black lashes making the color seem all the more intense, raked over her, studying her minutely. “Yes, I think I know just the thing.”
He linked her arm through his and guided her across the room. He pulled a simple startlingly white floor-length Athenian styled gown from a rack of exorbitantly priced glamorous, colorful, and sequined costumes. The dress had to be the most unremarkable costume on the rack. Trimmed in silver braiding, with a silver braided belt, the material appeared very thin and rather illusory to Ren. He guided her farther on to a display of masks. He studied the masks, just as closely as he’d studied her in her brown wool-blend off-the-rack business suit. And while he studied the masks, she studied him.
A well-cut lightweight beige suit set nicely upon his trim figure. Armani perhaps. He was taller than her, likely six feet to her five-ten frame, but not more than that. A solid build beneath the suit, not overly bulked. Gleaming, neatly-trimmed amber-jeweled hair streaked with blond, not salon dyed, but sun-kissed. Yes, one-of-a-kind. A traveler, his business, or pleasure, perhaps taking him to warmer climes—the Mediterranean possibly, or the Riviera. Although he carried himself with a Monte Carlo sophistication and sense of adventure. She could easily envision him in a high-stakes casino game, beautiful women draping him like a cashmere suit jacket. He was clean-shaven; he had nice hands, manicured nails.
“Like what you see?” he suddenly asked without turning to look at her.
She felt herself color at being caught out. He picked up one of the masks from its display. Green jeweled trim, metallic silver Venetian style. The shade of the mask was one that matched the braiding on the dress. He held it up. “Yes, this is the one.”
He didn’t wait for an answer to his original question of whether she liked what she saw. But the answer was that she definitely did. He took her by the hand and led her over to the dressing rooms. His was a warm hand, not too soft, not too hard. No construction worker here. Big enough, but not too big. The grasp was firm enough to claim the lead. He didn’t demand, the grip encouraged her to accompany him. If she’d pulled her hand free, he’d have let her go. It was the type of grip that made a woman feel safe. Maybe even protected. It spoke of self-assurance, but it wasn’t egotistical. Ren tried to fight the growing attraction for a man so far out of her league.
“What are you doing? I can’t wear this—I can’t buy it.”
“Let’s see how it looks before you decide.” He gave her a little push toward the dressing room door. Once she was inside, he whisked away the witch’s costume and then hung up the Grecian costume on the hook inside the small cubicle. Then he stepped back and closed the door, leaving her alone inside the room with the daring costume and her own volatile thoughts.
Ren stared at the white dress. The small room felt larger because all four walls were lined with mirrors. It gave her an oddly three-dimensional sensation, like she’d entered some strange and beautiful otherworld, like entering a house of mirrors. She shook her head. She removed the dress from the hanger and held it up in front of her. A small town construction company bookkeeper did not wear dresses like this. Not even for Halloween parties. They certainly didn’t wear them for a date with someone like Jim, the construction foreman who had a reputation for being a ladies’ man. And yet she found herself removing her jacket, her white blouse, her brown knee-length skirt, leaving her demure cotton bra and panties on. She did remove her suntan shaded pantyhose. But not even for this dress was she going to bare herself completely in front of a stranger. If she bought the dress—and that was a big if, it would require different undergarments, of course. Then she slipped on the gauzy Athenian gown. Exactly as she thought, way too sheer. Her bra and panties were quite visible and a jarring distraction beneath the seductive dress.
“No way,” she said. “This is so not me.” She began to unzip the back of the dress—at the waist because there was not an actual back to it, just lengths of pleated material that barely managed to cover her breasts, sewn securely at the waist at the back. She was still shaking her head, when the door opened and, much to her surprise, the man stepped inside.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“I heard what you said. I never make a mistake. This dress is you. Every bit of you.” He swung behind her, turning her face forward to one of the mirrored walls. “Mmm. I see.”
Her thoughts scattered with his warm hands upon her, running down over her hips, back up again, cupping her breasts, sliding down her midriff. “How can you possibly get the right effect with all this stuff ruining the lines of the dress?”
Before she could say anything, he had her bra unhooked. He made short work of getting that off her and then straightening the bodice—what little there was of it. Again, she gasped as his hands moved beneath the skirt and he divested her of her panties that now curled around her ankles. He let the skirt fall back into place.
“Do you see what I see?” he asked, forcing her to look in the mirror. “You are a goddess. You’re all of them wrapped into one beautiful woman.”
What she noticed was that her face was shiny red, suffused with color. As was the rest of her body. She felt her face heat even more when she saw that her erect nipples pushed insistently against the material, so very dark against the sheer whiteness of the fabric.
“This is outrageous,” she said. “It’s embarrassing. I don’t even know you.”
“A beauty in the making,” he said, his brilliant green eyes boring into her in their reflection. Then the color of his eyes deepened to jade.
As she stared at their silvered reflection, his hands molded around her breasts, his long fingers brushed across her nipples. She couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped her.
“Persephone, with so many wonderful secret mysteries to be explored.” Reaching up, he drew one side of the dress bodice down, exposing her breast. Ren was mesmerized by the sight of his golden-tanned hand against her pale white skin.
“You need more sun.” He stroked over her flesh. “But inside you there’s a fire waiting to be ignited. No one’s ever ignited you, have they—”
She knew what he wanted. “Ren,” she said breathlessly. My name is Ren Noletta.”
“Lovely. Ren. The heat beneath your skin, burns me up with your fire. You are Tlazolteotl, a Toltec earth goddess—desire personified. But you’re afraid of your power. Release it—show it to me. Give me permission to set you on fire, my Tlazolteotl.”
“I-I w-wouldn’t—I-I’ve never.” She couldn’t finish the thought. All she could do was stare at their reflections. He drew down the opposite side of the dress, exposing her other upthrust breast. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Now both of his hands kneaded her breasts.
“Quite exquisite. You have perfect breasts. Open your eyes. See what I see,” he said.
She heard the zipper as he drew it down, and the dress slipped to the floor. He leaned down and picked up the silver mask and settled it onto her face. “Maybe you’re a queen in your own right. Like Hel. I see you,” he whispered. “I see behind the mysteries of the mask you wear. That’s why I chose you. Out there.”
And then she did open her eyes. But the person in the mirror was no one she recognized. He made her see what he saw. Flushed skin, darkened nipples. Curvy, not so very skinny. Perhaps a bit generous around the hips. But there was something about the woman in the mask. Something different. The woman reflected in the mirror was no ordinary bookkeeper. She was…an exotic goddess.
He
drew out the pins in her hair and her long mane cascaded down her back. Dense and dark. He kissed her shoulder. The fingers of one hand trailed down her midriff, drifted through the curls dusting her mound, then slipped inside her and she gasped.
She saw him smile in the mirror; his green eyes glittered. “Lovely and wet. You welcome me. You want this. Flora, a Roman goddess, she is the aroma of nature, the taste of spring. This makes you hot. You like yourself like this, don’t you? Now I begin to see her—the goddess awakening inside you.”
“Who are you?” But then she lost that train of thought as his fingers thrust in and out, then stroked over her clit.
She heard the zipper of his trousers slide down, and a coil of heat began to gather in her womb. She sensed that if she told him to stop, he would.
“Stay just like that,” he said. “Don’t say a word, don’t move. Just stay as you are. You’re perfect.” And surprisingly she did exactly as he said.
Ren heard him sheath his prick. He’d come prepared. Would he have been ready to pick up any woman in the shop if she hadn’t walked in? His cock had felt so hard, so big against her back. Then he moved up behind her again. It all seemed to happen so quickly. So effortlessly. She wanted this so badly. Something elemental held her there, made her even wetter, made her nipples ache to have him touch her. He positioned her legs wider. He bent and slipped his prick between her wet thighs. And then he was inside her.
She tried to move, but he wouldn’t let her. He held her stationary with his hands on her hips. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
His cock—oh, God, his cock inside her, filling her. His fingers on her clit, stroking, circling. He pushed in, held himself deep within. “I want to feel you come.” He brushed over her clit. “Now. Come for me now, Ren.”
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