Crave
A Totally Bound Publication
Crave
ISBN #
978-1-78430-028-9
©Copyright Sierra Cartwright 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2014
Edited by Rebecca Douglas
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Melting
and a
Sexometer
of
2.
Bonds
CRAVE
Sierra Cartwright
Book one in the Bonds series
She still craved him… The sight of a collar in her boyfriend’s drawer had stunned Sarah. Panicking, she had fled. But no other man has ever been his equal.
Two years ago, the woman he’d hoped to collar and marry disappeared. So Reece McRae is stunned to find his former girlfriend on her knees, behaving as the submissive he’d always wanted.
Is it too late? He should refuse her, but an undeniable sexual attraction consumes him.
Sarah had been under Reece’s spell from the moment she met him. When she found a steel collar in his drawer, she panicked. The idea of a lifetime of his relentless demands, sensual and otherwise, suffocated her.
In the years they’ve been apart, she hasn’t met his equal. Now, convinced one last night will vanquish his memory, she sets out to seduce him.
The Reece she returns to is even more determined to have his way. Is she now strong enough, brave enough, to surrender to his love?
Dedication
For FBW. FAAD. Thanks for the new beginning.
Prologue
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. Spectacular in its stupidity. Borderline insane, even. You’ve had some idiotic moments in the last four years, but even for you, this is remarkable.” He waved a hand. “What in the
hell
are you thinking?”
Sarah hadn’t expected her old friend Julien to be wildly enthusiastic about her request to hook her up with her former boyfriend, but this? “Don’t hold back,” she returned, reaching for the bottle of wine. Like everything in Julien Bonds’ life, the Merlot, a brand she’d never heard of and couldn’t pronounce, was expensive.
“Sweetling, I haven’t even yet begun,” he said as she poured wine into her glass.
“Sweetling?”
“Better than piranha, I should think.”
“Piranha?” she asked, stung. “Is that how you see me?”
“Well, you don’t really have the teeth for it, do you? So I settled for sweetling.”
“That doesn’t fit me, either.”
“You’re right. I’m back to the man-eating carnivore image, then.”
“Sweetling it is,” she agreed.
He grinned. He’d won this skirmish, but she intended to win the bigger battle.
Glass in hand, she sat back and curled her bare legs beneath her. The white leather couch was smooth, soft, more inviting than her host. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He
had
agreed to see her, even though she’d had to accommodate his bizarre schedule and leave a party she’d been attending in northern California.
When she’d exited his private elevator, the bottle had already been uncorked and waiting. So he wasn’t completely inhospitable.
Julien pressed his palms together and regarded her across his fingertips. Although it was in the ever-expanding heart of Silicon Valley, his sprawling office suite at 1, Bonds Street was every bit as eclectic as he was. The building itself was only a year old. Rather than opting for a traditional structure, Julien had instructed his team of architects to design something that looked more like a UFO than a corporate headquarters.
This portion of Julien’s space was streamlined, decorated in white, chrome and glass. A shocking blood-red rug that cost at least as much as her yearly mortgage payment was splashed across the white marble floor.
Here he had no clutter, not even a magazine.
His desk was about half of a football field away. Its vast surface was covered with electronics that looked as if they were in various stages of development.
A silk-screened Chinese partition blocked off the back of the room. Behind its expanse, she knew, was a creative and frightening workspace. She’d seen it once and had been taken aback by the disaster. Papers had been scattered on every flat surface, tossed on the floor, tacked to the walls, taped to the tables, wadded and tossed in the general direction of an overflowing garbage can.
A mattress, sheathed with twelve hundred thread-count sheets, lay shoved against a wall. He kept it on hand for the times—days—that he was so involved in a project that he didn’t go home.
It was a good thing his office had a shower and a closet full of suits as well as sweatpants. He could greet the President of the United States or do a presentation to the city council then go back to his slovenly and strange ways, including eating celery and peanut butter for two meals a day.
Still, he was the best sort of friend, and he had been since she’d first met him four years before. He’d had an appointment with her boss, Reece McRae, and he’d apologized for showing up early. She’d stood there, files clutched against her chest, speechless, trapped somewhere between star-struck and awestruck. But Julien had helped himself to a glass of Scotch and had told her tales of his college days with Reece.
In the hour it had taken Reece to arrive, Julien had charmed her and extracted all her secrets. Rather than turn up his nose at her financial struggle to put herself through college, he’d told her he admired her scrappy determination. She’d walked away from the meeting believing none of the nasty things said about him in the press, though he assured her that he really was an evil bastard who chewed the heads off his competitors.
Now, four years later, he’d be the first person she’d call if she needed bail money. She knew he’d insist on hearing all the gritty, salacious details before he sprang her loose. But he’d be there.
“I have to point out that there are more than seven billion people on the planet,” he continued, still regarding her. “I should think at least half of them are men. Even if you discount those who are outside your age range, married or gay, I’d say you could have your choice of, at least five hundred million eligible bachelors.”
“True.”
“And you want one in specific.”
“Yes.” She took a drink of her wine.
Reece.
“There has to be a line of men a dozen deep who want to take you out.”
“I don’t want to go on dates.” She sighed in exasperation. “Are you listening at all?”
“Why didn’t you say so? You want to be fucked. Surely there’s someone out there who would be willing to do that. Someone. Anyone.” He reached for his phone, a slim, super-secret model the press would kill to get its hands on. Rumors of the device’s existence had swirled in cyberspace for two months. Last week an enterprising tech writer had broken into one of the building’s clean rooms to steal a prototype. The intruder had walked away from the evening with a police record and photos of a replicated communication device from a 1970s science fiction movie. Julien had told the story with unabashed glee, somewhere around, oh, six hundred times. “You’re”—he glanced at her—“considered passably attractive at least. Aren’t you?”
“Julien!”
“Right. You’re not bad at all.” He thumbed through several screens. “Wait. Wait. I’m sure I can find someone to dip his wick in your honeypot.”
She rolled her eyes. She would have laughed, but that would only encourage him. “Don’t quit your day job.”
“No chance,” he responded without looking up. “Let’s see. Ah. Got it.” He lowered his phone and smiled.
Absently she wondered how many thousands of dollars had gone into his veneers. She’d heard that he’d had several teeth knocked out during his younger days.
“Sylvio Aiello.”
“He has a little dick.”
He lowered his head and pantomimed looking over the rim of a pair of glasses. “A little dick?”
She held her thumb and forefinger about two inches part.
“That small?”
“Maybe a bit bigger. Not much.”
“You slept with Sylvio?”
Sarah shuddered. “Oh hell no. But Melissa did.” She and Mel had shared an apartment while they’d attended college, and they still worked together on projects.
“Mel?”
“Yep.”
“Your friend? Business partner? That Mel?”
“Yes.”
“Christ. I thought she had better taste than that.”
“Wait. Did you just tell me I should sleep with him?”
“Yes. But not Mel. I thought she had better taste than you do. Besides, I thought she fancied me.”
Sarah nodded. “She does like men with two commas in their net worth.” She smiled. “Regardless of the size of their dick.”
“Are you insinuating…?”
“Not at all. I’m just saying that money trumps anatomy.”
Julien opened his mouth but then shut it again before nodding and saying, “Right. We’ll remove Sylvio from consideration.”
“He was never in consideration.”
“There has to be someone who’ll fuck you.”
She threw a pillow at him.
Ignoring her, he scrolled some more. “Oh. Right. Right, right, right. I’ve got it. Sanders.”
She choked on a sip of her wine. “No. Not now. Not ever.”
“It’s the twitch, isn’t it?”
“Ah…” Words failed her. She wanted to be nice. She’d met Bart Sanders twice. He’d seemed a decent sort.
“Unfortunate, that.”
“Yes.” It was. As Bart became more excited, at the poker table or with a woman, his left eye twitched. If you watched, it got worse, until his whole body shook. “I got vertigo the one time I went dancing with him. He moved in for a kiss and—”
“Right.” He swiped the screen again. “Marvin Zeitgeist.”
“That’s not even his real name. What kind of architect uses a pseudonym?”