R.S.V.P. Page 7

  When he entered the store, bells sounded overhead and the pleasing scent of leather assailed him. There was nothing like the smell of fresh leather in the morning. Iggy, the store’s owner, waved at him from behind the counter.

  “Where y’at, Remy?” he called.

  Blue grinned at the familiar greeting. “Quoi de neuf?”

  “Not a ting, nig.” Iggy held out his fist and Remy knocked his knuckles against his friend’s. “Ya wan’ your coat?”

  “Is it ready?”

  “Aye, ‘tis. I be back.”

  Blue turned to check out a rack of new merchandise that included a new line of leather-lined handcuffs. Automatically his hand went to his jacket pocket and he squeezed the familiar lump inside. It was Scarlet’s—Elle’s, he mentally corrected—handcuffs and mask.

  He was obsessed with her. He’d already done everything he could and now it was a waiting game. It was two weeks until New Year’s Eve. Two weeks until he would see her again.

  If she attends the party.

  He turned away from the racks. He didn’t want to think about that, as other than trailing Tyson for who knew how long, it was his only option. She had to attend the party, she just had to.

  A flash of dark hair caught his attention and his heart almost stopped. A curvaceous figure in a purple coat vanished into the back room where Iggy stocked his custom leather clothing.

  It can’t be her…

  Even as he thought it, his feet carried him toward the back of the store. There had to be thousands of black-haired women in New Orleans and surely some of them would have a purple coat…

  There were several women in the back room and he quickly dismissed them when he saw they had the wrong hair color. He circled the crowded racks, his gaze searching out his prey. He stepped around a display of leather corsets before he saw her in the far corner near the masks and riding crops.

  Elle.

  With her dark hair loose about her shoulders and her hot little body clad in purple suede, he was transported back to the first time he saw her. The only difference was the stockings and heels were replaced with jeans and black running shoes.

  She was rummaging through a rack of leather bras, her perfect teeth nibbled on her lower lip as she contemplated the selection. Blue removed the handcuffs from his pocket. Dangling them from one finger, he approached.

  “Are you looking for something, Miss Scarlet?” he drawled.

  She jumped as if he’d poked her with a live wire. She spun toward him, her eyes widening when she realized who it was. Surprised twisted her features and her teeth released her lower lip with a soft pop.

  “Blue,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Standing this close he could detect her perfume.

  “I live here now.”

  His brow arched. “In New Orleans?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s interesting as I live southwest of here.” He slipped the cold steel bracelet around her wrist and closed it with a snick.

  She cocked her head, a soft little smile played across her mouth. “You do?”

  “I do.” He fastened the other bracelet on his wrist and closed it. “We could be neighbors.”

  Her smile grew. “We could?”

  He dipped his head toward hers. “Do you remember our agreement, Miss Scarlet?”

  She swallowed audibly and her voice was several octaves higher. “Which one?”

  “The one in which you accepted me as your master…” His lips brushed her cheek and her scent flowed over him.

  “Yes.”

  “Master.”

  “Yes, Master.” Her breath was warm on his skin.

  “And you do remember our agreement that you’ll take no other man without my permission?” His mouth sought out her earlobe.

  “Y-y-yes, Master.”

  “Very good, Elle. Now, how do you feel about spending your weekend tied up at my house?”

  About the author: Dominique Adair

  Dominique Adair is the pen name of award-winning novelist J.C. Wilder. Adair/Wilder (she chooses her name according to her mood—if she's feeling sassy and brazen, it’s Adair; if she’s feeling dark and dangerous, it’s Wilder) lives just outside of Columbus, Ohio, where she skulks around town plotting her next book and contemplating where to hide the bodies (from her books of course—everyone knows that you can’t really hide a body as they always pop up at the worst times).

  Dominique welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, Ohio 44224.

  Also by Dominique Adair:

  Last Kiss

  Party Favors anthology

  Tied With a Bow anthology

  Xanthra Chronicles: Blood Law

  Writing as J.C. Wilder:

  Ellora’s Cavemen: Tales From the Temple II anthology

  In Moonlight anthology

  Things That Go Bump In the Night 2004 anthology

  LOVE AND KINKS

  Madeleine Oh

  Chapter One

  “I don’t understand why you’re hesitating,” Maggie said.

  Jane Winston restrained an exasperated sigh. Of course Maggie didn’t understand. Jane’s best friend she might be, but happily married and great with her third child, Maggie was long past dating angst. Jane wasn’t.

  “You like him, don’t you? Heck, you’ve been going out with him five weeks!”

  Yes, she had, but afternoons on the river, dinners in stylish restaurants, even a couple of wildly passionate overnights in Alan’s flat were not the same as the current proposition.

  Maggie took the rectangle of shiny card from Jane’s hand and eyed the curly, copperplate script. “Alan Branis requests the pleasure of Jane Winston’s company for a weekend of fun and games. Mmm…” She tapped the corner of the card against her chin. “Definite style. Rather romantic really, but…” she paused, “I wonder what ‘fun and games’ means?”

  “I don’t think he’s talking about Scrabble or Tiddlywinks!”

  Maggie gave a wicked grin. “I should hope not—hell! Jane, he’s asking you away for a sexy weekend. Better stock up on condoms!”

  “He always takes care of…” Jane broke off. Maggie and she were darn close, but there were some things she did not need to share.

  Maggie positively leered. “So you have done the deed! Good for you!” Jane’s cheeks burned as Maggie grinned even wider. “Good was he?” Better than Jane’s wildest dreams and her dreams had always been pretty wild. “Tell me, Jane,” Maggie coaxed, “How was he?”

  She’d have to drop a crumb to keep Maggie satisfied. No way was she telling her how Alan had held her hands down over her head, pinning her to the bed or how he’d used his mouth to give her a succession of climaxes that left her sweating, gasping and boneless. “He’s a very good and considerate lover.” Assuming keeping her hanging on the edge for what seemed like hours and making her beg for a climax could be called considerate. “Fantastic in fact.” Cripes! She was blushing again.

  “Why hesitate?” Because he’d promised to tie her down and make her completely helpless, and told her that… “By the sound of things, this Alan of yours is a man to grab with both hands.”

  Not just hands. Jane’s face burned as she remembered taking his cock in her mouth and working her lips up and down. “I think you’re right. I’ll tell him I’m game.”

  “Good for you!” Maggie hugged her. “You really do need a nice man.”

  As Jane closed the door on Maggie, she wondered anew if making her spend an afternoon walking around London minus her panties came under Maggie’s definition of “nice”.

  Not that Jane much bothered what Maggie thought. She wasn’t the one who spent the afternoon aroused, until Alan finally gave her the climax of her life bent over the back of his sofa.

  Jane was half-scared over what Alan’s “fun and games” might include but she was darn sure, humdrum and dull would not be part of
the agenda.

  With the tea things tucked in the dishwasher, Jane picked up her phone and punched in Alan’s number—he’d been on speed dial for the past four weeks—and got his damn voice mail. “It’s me, Jane.” Her heart raced as she spoke. “It’s about your invitation. I’m completely free that weekend.”

  She clicked off her phone, hoping “free” wasn’t a synonym for “easy”. Or did she really? Since meeting Alan at the kinky boutique opening she’d covered for a magazine, her personal rules had changed. Just about anything went, and she didn’t have one regret—except perhaps not getting enough of him.

  He called back minutes later, the buzz of traffic in the background. “Jane.”

  Just the sound of his voice had her wet between the legs. What was it with this man? “Alan, I got your invitation.”

  “Yes, my dear. Didn’t it arrive yesterday?”

  It had. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “And?”

  Deep breath here. “I’ll come.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll make sure you do, my love, repeatedly.”

  Her throat went dry. She didn’t doubt him for one moment. “I’ll need directions.” Unless he planned on driving them both down to his cottage.

  “No, Jane. I want you to take the train. I’ll send you a ticket and a seat reservation. I’ll meet you in Guildford.” Fair enough, but… “Listen carefully, Jane. I’m not repeating this. When you get on that train at Waterloo, you’re to be wearing just a skirt and a top and sandals. Nothing else. What are you going to wear?”

  Deep, deep breath here. “Just a skirt and top, and sandals, no underwear.”

  “Good. I warn you Jane, sneak on a pair of knickers on the train and I will know. I’ll check you for elastic marks when you arrive.” Cripes, she didn’t doubt it! “I’m glad you’re so compliant. Now, listen to the rest. You’re to bring nothing of your own. I have a spare toothbrush here and plan on keeping you naked all weekend.” Goose bumps inched down her spine at that promise. “All you are to bring, other than your tickets and a little money in case of emergency, is the package I’ll have delivered to you on Thursday. There will be a small zip bag in the box, pack everything in that and bring it with you. Don’t leave it on the train or I’ll make you describe the contents to the lost luggage office.”

  He damn well would too! “Don’t worry, I’ll not forget it.”

  “Didn’t think you would, dear. Better not forget any of the items, even if you don’t fancy the look of them. I know exactly what I’m sending.”

  And this was what Maggie called a “nice man”! “Alan, I said I’d come. I’ll be there, toting the lot. Just don’t leave me standing at the station!” Snippy but hell…

  “Oh, Darling! That, I would never do. I’ll be there. Hard and ready for you. Don’t you dare miss that train.”

  She was now half-considering it.

  Jane would either be the end of him or the answer to his dreams. And right now, everything leaned towards the latter. Assuming it wasn’t all far, far, too wonderful to be true, Alan Branis believed he’d met his soul-mate.

  But…

  Wasn’t there always that sneaking doubt? The insidious insecurity, the halting unease. Despite all his hopes and dreams, it had never worked out before. Maybe, with Jane…

  He shook his head. Talk about hope springing eternal in the breast! He was pinning his hopes, not on Jane’s admittedly luscious breasts but on her mind and heart. So far, she was close to perfect. But was she too perfect to be true?

  His pickup line had been completely from the heart. He had admired and read her column religiously. Sometimes she covered current affairs, other times arcane subjects, always putting her slant and opinions to the fore. Not, he sensed, to impose her ideas, but more to incite discussion. He’d overheard more than one heated debate at work or in his club over “Jane Winston’s new column”.

  She might have found her first job though connections—having an uncle who owned the company, and a father a Member of Parliament, couldn’t hurt. But her current position was due to her brains, her skill and “I dare you” attitude in print. Strange that the Jane in the flesh was so different—quiet, almost to the point of shy—at least until he kissed her. Then it was like holding ignited fireworks in his arms. That demure, convent girl exterior concealed a wild, sensual woman.

  And she was brilliant. Each time, he’d pushed her a little farther sexually. More than once, he’d been half-scared he’d gone a hairsbreadth too far, but every time she’d surprised him. He had this weekend all planned out. He wanted her panting, begging and sweating for the multiple climaxes he planned on giving her. Wanted her naked, on her knees, her dark eyes looking up at him as her luscious lips engulfed his cock. He hoped to hell he wasn’t pushing too hard or too fast, but when he’d looked her in the eyes and told her he intended to tie her hand and foot so she was utterly helpless, she hadn’t reacted in horror or slapped his face or stalked off in high dudgeon. She’d blushed a wondrous shade of warm pink, her breath catching as she bit her bottom lip, her eyes gleaming with interest and excitement.

  Yes! Jane was the woman of his dreams. He wanted her naked, helpless and panting for his cock, and a weekend was not going to be enough. It was up to him to convince her he could give her what no other man could and that he was her best bet for the rest of her life.

  A pretty tall order but Jane was worth the effort.

  * * * * *

  Alan took Thursday and Friday off—the City could do without him for forty-eight hours—and had fun picking out the toys and goodies, before sending them off by courier, giving her just enough time to worry a little, but not enough to get cold feet and back out.

  That done, he made a stop by a small and very expensive caterer in Surrey to load his car with enough food to last them the weekend, packed the lot in his boot, along with a box of his favorite videos—all X-rated and most of them kinky, and a bag full of toys. John kept the cottage well equipped but Alan liked the feel of his own whips in his hand. And when the tresses connected to Jane’s sweet, pale flesh…

  Hell! He was hard just thinking about it.

  By the time he joined the A3, he was singing to himself as his car headed southwards.

  For three days, Jane ran from deadline to crisis and had little time—apart from every few minutes—to think about Alan and the looming weekend. But when the parcel arrived by courier on Thursday, the full reality of what she’d agreed to hit her hard between her heart and her mind. A glance at the articles packed in dark blue tissue paper and bubble wrap, sent Jane straight to the kitchen for a very generous G-and-T. Just in case one wasn’t going to be enough, she brought the bottle and the tonic with her as she tipped out the contents of the box onto her coffee table.

  The brief glimpse she’d had of the bright blue, suede-handled whip had been enough to send her to the gin bottle. This little stash might have her draining it.

  What had she agreed to?

  Okay, she could back out. Hadn’t Alan told her that at every turn? Her mouth went dry as she stared at the sex toys on her coffee table, while trying to ignore the tube of lubricant that rolled on to the floor.

  She grabbed the lubricant, not wanting to consider what that was intended for, and spread out the collection—velvet restraints. Four of them. He’d meant it about tying her hand and foot. Three—she counted them—butt plugs of varying sizes: baby, mamma and daddy bear. The two smaller ones looked bad enough but the big, purple one, she was tempted to lose. She could pretend it rolled under the sofa but remembered Alan’s words about knowing exactly what he’d sent. He wasn’t likely to forget the heavy-in-her-hand, red glass dildo either. The nipple clamps looked downright nasty, but the two bottles of massage oil sort of made up for them. Alan had wonderful hands—apart from the time he’d spanked her for delaying taking off her knickers. She wasn’t making that mistake again. She’d leave them at home this weekend.

  Was she totally, utterly and completely nuts?
<
br />   Was she seriously considering a weekend with a man who planned on using all these—and most likely more—on her?

  Was she really going through with this?

  If she had any trace of self-preservation, she’d throw the lot in the bin and get the first train in the opposite direction from Guildford.

  But to do so would deny herself the special thrills and pleasure only Alan Branis could give her.

  Trying, quite unsuccessfully, to keep her eyes off the narrow, blue tresses of the flogger, Jane took a sip of her gin and thought long and hard about her incredible relationship with Alan. Had it only been five weeks? Five weeks and seven dates. The last two culminating with wild, uninhibited sex. Jane had had several lovers in her twenty-seven years, but all had left her mildly dissatisfied, even when the sex had been good. As each relationship ended, she’d been left wondering what was missing and asking herself if she lacked the spark. She’d pretty much decided the whole earth-moving, mind-shattering climax mythology was a creation of romantic novelists.

  Then she met Alan.

  From his very first, “Hello, I’m Alan Branis. You’re Jane Winston, aren’t you? I’m thrilled to meet you. I love reading your column.” She’d been snared by his rich, deep voice and his bright, compelling eyes. And when they’d actually kissed in the taxi taking her home, she’d felt it right down to her cunt. By the time they pulled up in front of her flat in Hampstead, she’d been half-drunk on the scent of his body and the security of his arms. She’d almost cried with frustration when he declined her offer to come in for coffee—an offer she seldom made and never at first meeting—but he softened the letdown by asking her to meet him for lunch two days later.

  And now, five weeks on, he talked of taking things “farther”. Right! Judging by the little collection in front of her, he was planning on taking her places she’d never even dreamed of going.