My Books

Excerpt 1

He chose that moment to push back from his chair and she hurriedly looked away, feeling more like a thirteen-year-old in a school cafeteria than a professional woman doing legitimate research in a law library. She watched from the corner of her eye as Phillip moved back toward the shelves, his body now in profile as he perused them. He reached for a book and withdrew it. Though she'd meant to look away, for some reason she couldn't seem to, and as he walked back toward his table their eyes met.

She pressed her lips together to keep from letting the ridiculous gasp that wanted to get out from escaping. She looked down at her notebook, her cheeks again flaming as she stared, unseeing, at the words on the page.

"You're Ella, right?"

Unlike the clear, rich baritone he'd had in the dream, Phillip's real voice was little more than a rasping whisper. For a split second she thought he was trying to be quiet because they were in a library, but quickly realized that made no sense, as they were alone. Then she recalled what she'd heard about the car accident, and the loss of his voice.

"Yes," she said, not quite daring to meet his eyes, aware from the heat that her cheeks and neck were still flushed.

"You work with Gordon Fletcher and Amy Kennedy, is that right?" She liked how he said worked with, rather than worked for. She nodded. "And it's going okay? You settling into the routine of this place by now?"

Ella found the husky, hoarse whisper kind of sexy. "Yes," she repeated, as she tried to come up with something else to say, just so he'd keep those lovely brown eyes fixed on her. She could smell him now, a clean scent of soap and the barest hint of spice. She had a crazy desire to bury her nose against his neck and inhale. She could feel her nipples perking against the confines of her bra and silently prayed they weren't visible against the grey silk of her blouse.

Though never especially eloquent at the best times, surely she could come up with something more than yes, over and over, like some kind of tongue-tied parrot. "I'm working with Gordon on the Stevenson case," she finally offered.

Phillip nodded. "Well, don't let me disturb you," he said and silently she cursed herself, aware he'd assumed from her remark that she was busy and wanted to get back to it. Which she was, of course, busy that is, but she found she did not want to get back to it. She wanted to stare at Phillip Arden instead. She wanted to tell him about her dreams.

She ducked her head down instead, almost glad when he took the books he'd pulled from the shelves and headed toward the library door. "Catch you later," he croaked, before shutting the door softly behind him. Ella stared at the door for a while, and then sighed.

Just imagine if people really did what they wanted and said what they were thinking? Just imagine if she'd actually said aloud, "I've had two very vivid sexual dreams about you, Phillip. In both of them you were this super sexy Dom dressed in black leather, whipping a naked, bound girl, while I watched, masturbating in the darkness above you."

Yeah, that would go over real well, she was sure! After he stared at her in horrified disbelief, he'd hightail it over to Stratton's office to let him know they'd hired a raving lunatic who was making inappropriate sexual advances toward him.

Last night's dream rose in her mind with sudden, vivid clarity. There he was so tall and proud, turning back to look up at her, raking her naked body with his insolent stare, his lips curling into that ironic half smile that seemed to say, I know your secrets.

She sighed again and shook her head. She really needed to get out more. She needed to find a nice, boring vanilla man to distract her from these lurid fantasies. As if that would work. Roger had been vanilla, and even though she'd tried to gently, subtly steer him toward D/s play, he'd rarely taken the hint. He just wasn't wired that way. And she, she had to admit whether she liked it or not, was.

Ah, well, if nothing else, at least she had these sexy dreams to ponder. Two nights in a row—would there be a third? As she packed up her notebook and returned the books to their shelves, Ella began to hum. Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily...

~*~

Though Ella usually had to read for a long time before she felt sleepy enough to turn out the light, that night she was too restless to concentrate on her novel. She turned off the lamp and closed her eyes, letting her mind slide over the dreams of the past two nights, recalling each with as much detail as she could remember.

Would tonight be her turn? Would she finally be allowed off the perch? Was she ready? "It's just a dream, Ella," she said aloud. "It's not like you can control what happens."

She closed her eyes and slid down into the arms of sleep...

Excerpt 2

And what of this Ella Stanford? What was she really like? Not the dream slave girl that could be nothing more than a figment of his fevered, lonely imagination, but the real woman? With her high collars, her hair scraped back from her face, her eyes averted—what was she hiding? Was there a flesh and blood woman lurking beneath the cool exterior, filled with longing and loneliness, same as him?

Or was she perfectly content in the world she'd created for herself? Was there a lover or a husband waiting at home, when she shed her professional persona and fell, laughing, into his arms?

Phillip thought of her in the research library, and before that in the boardroom, blushing so sweetly each time they spoke, and he somehow knew she had no significant other. She had to be in her late twenties or early thirties, and she wore no rings on her fingers. She was beautiful, but in a restrained, reserved way that only made him want to seek her fire all the more. Beneath their banal conversation, there had been something there between them, an underlying eddying current of...of what? Recognition? Could that be? Or were his own longing and loneliness, not to mention the vivid, pulsing dreams, coloring his perception of the real woman?

This was crazy. If nothing else, he needed to get this nonsense out of his system. He didn't do angsty crushes. He was a grown man. So, he'd been having a few rather intense dreams lately. No doubt it was just a product of coming off the sleeping pills after so long, and the lack of sex and companionship in his life lately. Was it a crime to be lonely? For that matter, was there a law against grabbing a sandwich with a coworker? It wasn't like he was asking her to go to bed with him. Just a fucking sandwich, for god's sake. Why was he giving himself such a hard time?

He pushed back from his desk and stood, curling one hand into a fist and smashing into the open palm of the other. "Damn it, fuck the rules. I'm asking her to lunch."

~*~

Ella could tell someone was standing there at her cubicle—she could almost see them in her peripheral vision—but she knew if she stopped her thought she'd lose it, and Amy had wanted the contract typed and ready a half hour ago. If only the damn phone would stop ringing. Not for the first time, Ella wished she had a secretary. She did important work, work that required concentration and expertise. And yet, when her phone rang, which it was doing constantly this morning, she was expected to drop everything and answer it.

Finishing the paragraph, she finally tore her eyes away from her computer to see who was there to annoy her now. "Oh, hi," she said inanely, when she realized who it was. Phillip Arden, in the flesh, even better looking in real life than in the dreams.

Through sheer determined will, she forced the image of the sexy dream Master back into the recesses of her mind. This man standing before her had nothing to do with him. This was just another entitled, clueless attorney, probably there to "borrow her" from Gordon and Amy for some urgent task or other.

"May I help you?" she added rather more formally, as he hadn't yet made his intentions clear.

"I, uh," Phillip croaked in that hoarse whisper of his, "I was wondering..." He paused, clearing his throat. Ella waited, curious now, and relieved to find at least she wasn't blushing in front of the guy, for a welcome change.

"Yes?" she prompted helpfully, unable to resist a covert glance at her computer screen. She really had to get that damn contract finished.

Phillip looked at his watch, which Ella noticed was slim and elegant, but in an understated way, not like the flashy Rolex Gordon wore that probably cost more than her car. "I know it's last minute, but I was going to go grab a bite and wondered if you wanted to..."

For a second Ella thought the attorney actually had the nerve to ask her to go fetch his takeout pizza or something, but she then realized he was asking her out to lunch. Or not asking her out, exactly, but seeing if she wanted to tag along? He flashed a smile, and she noticed he had a dimple in his left cheek. She had a sudden insane desire to poke her tongue into it.

The image she'd managed to keep at bay of the handsome Master of her dreams suddenly loomed large, along with the memory of being tethered to the web, forced to orgasm through the pain of nipple torture, certain he was nearby, watching, measuring, determining her worth. She felt the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. He no doubt thought she was blushing because he'd asked her to lunch. Imagine if he knew the real reason?

"I'm sorry," she said, attempting to adopt the smooth professional tone she used when interviewing clients. "I have to get this contract out right away." He just stared at her, not seeming to get it, so she added, "I don't usually take lunch."

"Well, for every rules, there's an exception, right?" He smiled, those dark eyes making her catch her breath. What was the harm of a quick bite to eat? He was just being friendly, why rebuff him? After all, it wasn't his fault she'd commandeered his image for her extremely explicit sexual fantasies. He could hardly know he was her secret dream Master, or at least the one she wanted, if only she passed enough tests in the dream world.

It wasn't as if going to lunch was the same as going on a date, was it? She had a firm policy in that regard. No dating at the office, period. Especially not attorneys. Because if and when the relationship foundered, you could bet it wouldn't be the attorney who got asked to leave, but the poor secretary or paralegal who was living paycheck to paycheck.

He was waiting patiently for her to reply. What did he want from her? She realized to her chagrin that her damn nipples were erect again, and she had a horrible feeling they were showing, though she didn't dare glance down to see. He leaned in closer toward her, and the dimple appeared again. "Okay, don't let me interrupt your workday. How about after work? Maybe we could go for a drink. Just one, over at Crossroads. It's Friday, after all. That is, if you didn't have plans?"

Why did he have to smell so damn good? He'd given her an out. Plans—yes, she had plans. Loads of them, in fact. Laundry loads, but he didn't have to know that. "Why, yes, I," have plans, she started to say—had meant to say, but then he smiled again, an easy, open smile filled with such hope and sweetness that instead she found herself saying, "would like that."

Excerpt 3

All at once she feels the presence of the tall Master and her body feels hot, the skin flushing with sudden, aching desire. From her position flat on her back, she can't lift her head to make sure, but somehow she knows he is there, a silent but keen observer.

Nipple clamps bite down like tiny vises over her tender nipples. She gasps when weights are added, the pull dragging every nerve ending painfully awake in her breasts, and at the same time shooting sparks of pleasure directly to her cunt. She bites her lip, desperate to prove she can take whatever is meted out, somehow certain this silence is necessary to pass the test.

The pain at her breasts is eased or at least obscured by the expert tongue at her clit and she knows she's about to come, in spite of the pain, or perhaps, partially, because of it.

She is dimly aware of the murmured approval and discussion going on in front of her. Yes, she's a good one. She'll do nicely on the floor. A natural masochist. Look at her trembling, her face twisted in a lovely confusion of erotic suffering. Pleasure and pain are one and the same for her. The voices blend, feminine and masculine, their rich tones mingling with her own mewling cries.

Again that voice, the deep, compelling voice she'd heard on the first night, murmurs as if someone were speaking directly into her ear, or inside her head! We are taking possession of your body and soul. There's no turning back. You belong to this world now. It will become more real to you than life itself. Come, come for me. Now...

~*~

Ella woke herself with her own panting cries. Her fingers were buried in her pussy and she shuddered with the aftershock of the explosive orgasm given to her in her dream. Her sheets were twisted around her legs, her hair matted and damp on her forehead. She took a deep breath and blew it out. These dreams were like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life. They were real.

No, that couldn't be right. They weren't real. After all, she was lying in her bed in her small apartment in Florida, not tethered to a leather spider web in the stone hall of an ancient British castle, with two scantily clad women in stiletto heels making her scream with pleasure and pain.

She sat up, trying to laugh at herself, but it didn't work. The dream was real. Her heart still thumped with the memory, and her fingers were sticky with her own juices. This room, with its boring white modern furniture, and the washed out light of a new dawn, seemed like a pale imitation of that vivid space, where sight and sound were accentuated, and sensation was a thousand times more vital than here in this drab, dreary place called "real life."

She fell back against the pillows and sighed. She hadn't seen Phillip, or rather, the dream Master who resembled Phillip, but she'd felt his presence. He'd been there, watching, waiting, evaluating. Had she, she wondered now, passed the test? Would tomorrow night bring her to him at last?