Master of Submission

Previously titled: Dare to Dominate

Master of Submission is a novel in the Erotic Awakenings Series. Dare to take a journey of D/s discovery. Experience the edgy passion, power, and romance of erotic submission.

Excerpt from Book

“There’s nothing degrading about consensual submission,” she said softly. “In my experience, for those of us who are hardwired this way, there’s nothing more intense, more powerful, than an intimate BDSM connection.”

He looked down at her hand over his, but didn’t pull away. She could feel his tension—not the coiling of someone prepared to flee, but rather a sudden, focused concentration of his entire being.

Slowly, his eyes met hers, the same raw longing she’d seen at the club on his face. “Tell me more,” he whispered.

She started to speak, but he stopped her by placing his finger lightly over her lips.

“Not here. Come upstairs with me. To my suite.”

She smiled against his fingers and then pulled her head back with a toss of her hair. “Are you really inviting me up to discuss the philosophy of consensual BDSM, or is this your crafty way of picking me up?” she teased.

He flashed a grin back at her. “Maybe both?” he suggested. He dropped some Euros on the bar and got to his feet. “You definitely have me intrigued, Laurel Jordan. I want to learn more, about BDSM, and about you.”

She stood as well, ready for whatever adventure the night promised. “Lead the way.”

They walked together back into the lobby, retrieving their coats and scarves along the way. They didn’t speak as they glided silently up in the elevator, their eyes focused on the digital floor display above the doors.

At his floor, Jonathan gestured Laurel out. “The last door down there on the left.”

He unlocked the room with his keycard and stepped back to let her enter first. The room was decorated in heavy-handed old-world European style, with too much brocade, silk and crystal, but it was certainly comfortable. It was a two-room suite, the bedroom visible through an open door.

Jonathan took Laurel’s things and hung them on the coat rack just inside the door, along with his coat. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a small laugh. “At least for the next eight hours. I fly back to the States in the morning.”

“Tomorrow!” Laurel blurted. That didn’t give them much time. She found she didn’t want him to leave—not when they were getting to know one another. But she swallowed any protest and said only, “So soon.”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “Why couldn’t I have met you my first night here, instead of my last?” Then he brightened. “But you’re heading back to the States soon, right? I mean, your next project and all?”

“Soon, yeah,” she agreed noncommittally, surprised, and not used to nor entirely comfortable with, how vulnerable she suddenly felt around this man.

Jonathan walked to the minibar. “Want another drink?” He looked back at her. “They have everything in this thing.”

Laurel joined him by the bar, glad for the distraction. She surveyed the offerings. “I love those tiny bottles,” she said. “They’re so cute, like they were made for miniature people in a miniature house.”

“Handy for keeping in your suit jacket during particularly interminable business meetings too,” Jonathan said with a laugh.

“That, too,” she agreed. She selected a bottle of Grand Marnier, which Jonathan prepared for her over ice, as she requested. He selected a scotch, which he took neat.

They settled together on the couch. “Do you mind if I take these off?” Laurel asked, pointing toward her boots.

“No, go ahead,” Jonathan said, leaning back against the couch.

Laurel kicked off her boots and tucked her legs up under herself, suddenly self conscious of her faded, ripped jeans, compared to Jonathan’s elegant suit pants. The room was stuffy, and sweat pricked at her underarms. She was wearing a brightly patterned hand-woven sweater she’d bought in Sri Lanka. “Do you mind if I take this off? It’s kind of hot in here.”

Jonathan smiled. “Of course not.” He got to his feet. “I’ve complained twice about the thermostat, but it doesn’t seem to help.” He moved toward the bank of windows that looked out over Munich’s skyline. “I’ll open the windows.”

As a pleasant gust of cold air whooshed into the room, Laurel pulled the sweater over her head and shook her hair. Underneath she wore only a ribbed tank top. She rarely wore a bra, and tonight was no exception. As Jonathan returned to the couch, his eyes moved toward her breasts, clearly outlined beneath the cotton. Laurel’s nipples tingled and hardened beneath his gaze.

His smile had faded, his eyes hooded as he stared at her. “Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re gorgeous.”

Laurel, used to men’s positive attention, felt suddenly, oddly shy. “Thank you,” she murmured, cupping her brandy snifter with two hands in front of her as she stared into his compelling eyes. She expected him to bend down and kiss her, and her mouth actually watered in anticipation.

But instead, he sat down beside her. Reaching toward the glass coffee table where he’d set his drink, he picked it up and took a sip. Laurel felt both deflated and relieved. She welcomed the chance to regroup, not used to feeling at all out of control.

“Downstairs,” Jonathan said, “you said something that intrigued me. You said there’s nothing degrading about consensual submission. What does that mean exactly?”

“Just that when two people agree that a certain behavior is desirable and sexy, and they both want it, there’s nothing degrading about it. I guess you could say degradation is in the eye of the beholder. Some couples might freak out over anal sex, for example, with the guy announcing he would never degrade his woman”—she used air quotes around the word degrade—“by fucking her in the ass. And maybe for her it really would be degrading. But for some other couple, it might be their favorite thing—a huge turn-on to both of them.”

“That makes sense.”

“Sure,” Laurel agreed. “Sex and sexuality are natural parts of what we are, you know? It comes in all different flavors, from vanilla to rainbow to everything in between. Some guys like guys, some girls like girls, some men like their woman in charge in the bedroom, and some women like to be tied down and whipped.” She leaned toward him, warming to her topic. “Some women long to be taken by a true Master—a Dom who understands their need for sexual submission, their craving for erotic suffering.”

“And you,” Jonathan said softly. “You would fit in that last category?”