About Chasing Love
Maddy has searched for love and acceptance her entire life. She finds more than she bargains for after picking up a man in a bar while visiting her aunt in Iowa.
About His Alone
When Cleo met Elliott, the maestro of Doms, eight months ago, he laid out the rules - no questions, no whining, and no ties. The lines blurred somewhere along the line and Cleo crossed them. Now she's in over her head with feelings for the beautiful man. For her own sanity, she must end their weekly sessions and eat her heart in the process. But her Dom has problems of his own. Has he stepped over the same hazy boundaries?
About Guilty Pleasures
Zoe and Michael's marriage is in deep trouble. Michael works late every night and Zoe struggles through endless of hours of loneliness and need. Desperate for attention, she joins a chat room called Tie Me Up and meets the charming, seductive Master D.
In the beginning, I was in charge, or so I thought. Elliott admitted he was smitten the moment he laid eyes on me. He worked hard to gain my trust and my surrender. The man would do anything I asked in the beginning. I can’t recall how or when our relationship turned. I’m not even sure I can call what we have a relationship. But somewhere along the line I realized he exposed my true self—a submissive. I also recognized at some point I wanted more from him, so much more.
The fantasies are no longer just mine but ours. At his core, Elliott’s a Dom and I’m a sub, and the sex seems more real to me than anything in my life. I now need it, crave it, can’t imagine an existence where I’m not immersed in the masochistic environment Elliott has created for us.
“In order to feel sexually fulfilled you need to be humiliated, humbled,” he says.
Even if some tiny spark of rebellion exists somewhere in the depths of my soul, I can’t deny the truth of his words. Elliott is right; I covet the whip, the rough sex play, and every amoral act the man subjects me to. He’s never taken it too far. Regardless of how deep I descend into the whimsical, capricious world I dreamed about in my teens, he always brings me back from the edge. It seems important to him that I don’t become lost in my rapturous imaginings, but remain rooted to reality, functioning as a decent member of society. I love that about him too.
The blast from a horn behind me sends my heart lurching and draws my introspection to an end. The light ahead has turned green and traffic has, by some miracle, thinned. I draw several deep breaths and turn left onto the street where he lives. I’m almost there. No sense speculating on what will happen; I can never begin to guess. The only thing that remains the same on each visit is that I knock on the door twice. Sometimes he makes me wait five minutes before he answers. I think he does this to let me know who’s in charge, and to heighten my tension. Elliott doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, but he is methodical and very clever.
The driveway is circular and made of cobblestone. I park in front of Elliott’s condo, slip from behind the wheel and straighten my leather skirt. Recalling the breathing technique my counselor taught me in high school, I suck in a deep breath from my belly and hold it to the count of three, exhaling fast on another triple count. Then I raise my knuckles, rap twice and pray he won’t leave me standing on the stoop too long tonight.
While I wait, memories of the first time I came here snake to the forefront of my brain. We met at a bar near campus called Your Last Drop. I was in my third semester of college, working toward a business degree. Elliott and the bartender, Bagger—a tongue-in-cheek moniker for all the women he’s bagged—went to high school together and, on occasion, I’d see him there pounding down wine coolers. Before we actually met, I’d lie in my bed at night and imagine the gorgeous dude from the bar touching my naked flesh, stroking me from the inside out until I was mindless with desire. Later I discovered Elliott was an archeologist and worked at a museum in the big city.
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