Dark Blue: Study in Seduction, Book 1 (31 page)

She could only handle one disgruntled male at a time. “I’m not sure why you’re upset,” she said to Mason.

He gave her a what-the-hell look. “Because you accepted my key,” he bit off.

“What? She took my key.” Oh, great, now the blond guy, Kevin, was back at Dack’s other elbow, and he was looking daggers at her as well.

“Hey, I don’t know what all this fuss is about,” she protested, her voice quavering embarrassingly.

“Daisy.” Dack cut her off, his deep voice full of authority. “Explain.”

She wanted to quail before the three alpha males glaring at her. Stiffening her knees, she faced them, glaring back defiantly. “Explain what? I don’t even know what you’re so mad about.”

“Yeah, right.” Kevin shook his head in disgust.

Mason eyed her, his head cocked to one side. “No, hold on. I think she’s telling the truth.”

“Daisy.” She looked at Dack, willing the tears clogging her throat not to fall. She’d finally gotten the courage to follow through on her fantasies, and now her exciting adventure was going to hell for reasons she didn’t even understand.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pretty blonde sitting with her arms crossed, watching. She shook her head as if unable to believe how much trouble Daisy was in.

Dack took her hand in his, lifting it so the key hanging from her arm was displayed. “You don’t know what the keys mean? Rochelle didn’t explain that to you when you came in?”

“No. Wait, she mentioned keys, but she—she wasn’t feeling well.” Daisy didn’t want to get the receptionist in trouble. Seemed like she had enough. “She didn’t finish whatever she was going to say. I thought she was going to faint. She waved me in and ran for the restroom.”

Dack grimaced. “I’ll deal with that in a bit. Now, where are their keys?”

Daisy handed him his sunglasses and dug the other keys from her purse. They lay in her palm.

She tried to hand them to him, but he shook his head, shoving his sunglasses on the top of his head. “Daisy, when someone—a guy or a gal—offers you their key, it means they’re a dom. And they’re asking you to be their partner, to submit to them for the evening.”

Her breath froze in her throat, her tears forgotten. He held her gaze, his quizzical. “And when you take it, you’re agreeing.”

“Oh.” The work came out in a squeak. Holy crap, all three of these guys thought she’d agreed to—to let them do stuff to her, with her?

Dack rose, towering over her. “Now choose. And hurry your ass up about it. I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned and strode away.

Oh God. Daisy watched him go. Was he coming back? Did she even want him to? Well, one thing was for sure, she had to deal with these two guys first.

She turned to Mason and held out his key. “I’m really sorry.”

He nodded, looking as if he were trying not to grin. “’S okay. Put it in my pocket, eh?”

She looked at his tight jeans and blinked at the size of his male package. She was not going there. Instead, she tucked the key in a small pocket of his vest.

“You’re not getting one of my margaritas,” he teased, waving the drinks enticingly.

Daisy smiled back, feeling a twinge of regret. “There’s a blonde behind you who looks like she needs a drink.”

His eyes gleamed. “Good idea.” He turned away.

Daisy turned to Kevin. He gave her a cocky grin as if sure she’d choose him. He was handsome, but he was not someone Daisy would consider actually hooking up with. With an inward shudder, she held out the black key to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I, um, hope you have a great night.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, grabbing the key from her. “Hope you can say the same.” He turned his back on her.

Well, okay. So he wouldn’t be forgiving her anytime soon.

She sank onto the sofa, leaned her forehead on her hand. Geez, what a night. Was this going to work for her? She felt like there was a whole secret rulebook someone had forgotten to show her.

The music started again, a bluesy number with lots of saxophone. Daisy leaned her chin on her hand and looked around. Mason was perched on the arm of the blonde’s chair, his back partly turned to Daisy. They were sipping margaritas and smiling at each other. The woman’s eyes were sparkling as if her dreams for the night had come true.

Daisy felt Dack’s presence before she saw him—a kind of electric awareness. She sat up straight as he resumed his former perch on the arm of the sofa. He said nothing, and her nerves sizzled with anticipation. Finally, she could stand the wait no longer and looked up at him.

He was looking down at her over his crossed arms, like a potentate regarding a recalcitrant harem girl. His sunglasses had disappeared. Oh, man, the pose highlighted his huge shoulders and gorgeous biceps. She wanted her hands all over those arms.

“Still here, I see,” he rumbled.

She shrugged. That was a no-brainer.

“Stand up.”

Scooting forward off the sofa, Daisy rose and turned to him. Was he going to ask her to dance?

“So, now that you know what my key means, you gonna wuss out?” he asked her, one corner of his mouth pressing in, as if he was trying not to grin.

She scowled at him, planting her hands on her hips. “No.”

“Good.” He uncrossed his arms and crooked his forefinger. “Then c’mere.”

Daisy took the single step that placed her between his spread knees. He took his key from her wrist, stretched the choker with both hands, and lifted it over her head. The warmth of his big hands ruffled her hair, ghosted over her cheeks.

The choker settled into place around her throat, a light caress, the key dangling in the hollow of her throat. He eyed it with satisfaction, his hands spread on his knees.

Disappointment trickled through her. She’d hoped he would put his hands on her, maybe kiss her.

He looked up into her eyes. “Now, since you won’t take your top off,” he said, “let’s have your skirt instead.”
 

They’ve got the sex factor in spades. But can love survive the “ex” factor?

Knowing the Ropes

© 2013 Teresa Noelle Roberts

Selene has harbored kinky, submissive fantasies most of her life, but her experience as a domestic abuse counselor leaves her leery of giving up that much control. Case in point: the ex-fiancé she didn’t love quite enough to test the limits of trust.

At a BDSM meet-and-greet, she sets out to learn how far is too far. Nick seems like the ideal dom to show her the ins and outs of ropes, floggers, and paddles—with no commitment clause.

After losing a sub he loved too much, Selene’s country girl common sense and smoking sensuality is like a dream that Nick never dared to have—a perfect blend of kink and long-term domestic bliss.

Yet it’s tough to figure out just how far they can push their limits when they’ve both agreed to a no-strings affair. Especially when an ex needs Nick’s muscle and Selene’s counseling skills to get out of a dangerous situation. By then it may be too late for love to survive all the things they’re afraid to say.

Warning: Sexy, kinky, geeky dominant guy. Smart submissive woman. Crazy ex. A little experimentation between girlfriends. And lots and lots of kinky sex.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Knowing the Ropes:

Selene found herself with Nick, drifting toward an early dinner somewhere. He had a place in mind but hadn’t actually told her where, and she found she liked the feeling that she’d put herself into his hands in this small way.

The more she talked with Nick, the more his cool blue gaze and warm smile distracted her, and the more she felt his body language sync up with hers. No, not exactly in sync but one step ahead, anticipating her next movement and influencing it, as if starting to mold her already. She watched his big hands, imagining them alternately caressing and slapping her breasts, her thighs, her ass.

She looked down at his feet when she imagined her fevered thoughts were too obvious in her eyes, then imagined herself kneeling there, naked, trembling, wet.

Actually, she didn’t need to imagine the wet and trembling part. Her panties already felt suspiciously damp and her knees were shaky.

They walked more or less in silence. Between traffic noise, noise from the perennial construction along Atlantic Avenue and the melting heat, talking seemed far too much like work. Even the breeze off Boston Harbor was sticky.

By the time they crossed a bridge over Fort Point Channel, she was wishing she’d worn flats, even if they wouldn’t have looked right with the outfit. She prayed that the restaurant would be an informal place where she could slip her shoes off under the table.

Once she saw the restaurant, her feet breathed a sigh of relief.

The Barking Crab was a tribute to the beachside clam shack. Rough picnic tables covered with butcher paper—they even provided crayons for doodling. A mix of fried and steamed seafood, with a few more sophisticated but still basic selections. And outdoor seating on the harbor, so she could kick off the damn heels and relax. “It’s a tourist trap,” Nick said, “but it’s fun.”

Soon they were drinking cold beers—he’d recommended the fascinatingly named Smuttynose, from a brewery in New Hampshire—and awaiting plates of fried scallops, fried calamari and steamed mussels. Selene hadn’t eaten a great deal that day and the frosty, hoppy beer was making her feel pleasantly euphoric.

Or maybe that was Nick.

She stretched out her bare foot, brushed it against his calf. Hard muscle under soft denim. Nice.

Yeah, Nick might just have something to do with the euphoria.

He took the hand that wasn’t holding her beer.

No, he didn’t exactly take her hand. He covered her hand with his and closed his fingers around her wrist. Then he looked into her eyes.

A slow, sensual smile opened on his face as he said, “That’s better. Isn’t it?”

It wasn’t really a question, but he was giving her an out if she wanted it.

She didn’t. That firm grip on her wrist hinted at so many things she’d dreamed of. “Oh yes,” she breathed. “Better.” She dropped her voice a notch. “And wetter.”

It may have been purely coincidence that the woman sitting behind her giggled at that second, but Selene was sure she’d overhead.

Heat flared in Selene’s cheeks and, to her surprise, between her legs. She squirmed in her seat, less from actual embarrassment than to enjoy the pressure the movement put on her swollen lips.

Under the cover of the first round of food arriving, Nick leaned forward. “So, you enjoy a little bit of public embarrassment? I’ll file that away for later.”

“You’re so confident that there’ll be a later?”

“What do you think?” He ran one fingernail down the tender inside of her forearm.

His nails weren’t sharp, but she still shivered.

“What about the common-sense test?” she asked. Her voice sounded a little desperate to her own ears, grasping at verbal straws. “Don’t I fail it retroactively if I go home with you tonight?”

“If you come home with me and let me lock you in a cage, then yes. But to do that, I’d need a cage, and where will I find one in downtown Boston on a Saturday night?” He laughed. “I’m regretting that test. It’s making us both think we have to be sensible, and right now I’d rather be impulsive.”

“Would it help if I said I wasn’t thinking of much of anything except you?” Had that really come out of her mouth? “Okay, you and food. I’m starving.” She grabbed a ring of fried calamari and popped it into her mouth, hoping the squid would keep her from saying anything too stupid. Calamari had the texture of bubble gum, in her experience, and it was rude to talk with your mouth full.

Damn it if this place didn’t manage to make calamari tender. Delicious too, with a nice, crunchy coating and a bit of spice.

Much tastier than what she’d been expecting but not nearly as effective for keeping her safely quiet.

“Try it with a bit of the banana pepper,” Nick suggested, picking up a calamari ring and a piece of yellow-green pepper. She thought for a second he was demonstrating the proper technique.

He wasn’t.

He reached across the table and held the food before her lips. “Try it,” he urged.

Her mouth opened of its own accord.

He brushed his finger across the pout of her lower lip, making her shiver.

She opened her mouth slowly, took a tentative nibble to test the pepper’s heat, then parted her lips wider and engulfed the food and Nick’s fingers.

Unfortunately, there was only so much room around the morsel for tongue and fingers to work their wiles upon each other. She did her best, though, sucking and nibbling on his fingers while he moved them against her tongue, tantalizing something besides her taste buds, which were already busily dealing with piquant pepper and warm, spiced calamari. She found she was leaning forward to take him, wanting to feel more, liking the sensation that he was filling her mouth.

She wanted him filling her mouth with his cock, wanted him to move in her mouth as he was now—no, harder, more forcefully, claiming that piece of her as his.