Flaunt It: Paolo's Playhouse Page 5

  “Sunshine.”

  Nia opened her eyes, drunkenly raised her head and peered at her husband. “Yes?”

  “Take off everything then sit here on the table.”

  There wasn’t even a need to reply. Nia obeyed while he watched with lust-filled eyes. Eric was quiet the entire time she undressed, silent but attentive. She felt his gaze heavy on her even when she bent over to slip off her shoes and step out of her pants and panties.

  When she was wearing nothing but her grandmother’s heirloom, silver-filigree, garnet-pendant necklace, she placed her hand on her hip and stood proudly in front of him. She was going for a sexy come-hither look, but the shiver she let out and the goose bumps that broke out all over her arms instantly ruined it. The only thing remotely sexy about her now was how her nipples were erect, but even that had more to do with the crisp air than their naughty game. “Waiting for you to warm me.”

  Eric picked her up and set her next to the box on the table. “You mean these dark berries didn’t come out to play just for me?” he asked as he ran his hands up and down her arms, giving a little warmth to her chilled limbs.

  “Traitorous bitches.”

  “I think I might have to teach them a lesson, but first.” Eric let her go and pulled a Santa hat out of the box. He dangled the red fabric with the white trim in the air and smiled in his devilish way.

  Chill forgotten, Nia was ready for the fun. “Oh, Santa, I’ve been a very naughty girl.”

  “I hope so, but it’s not for me.” To her surprise, Eric set the hat in her lap and reached up behind her with both hands to free her hair from her ponytail. He tossed the band over his shoulder as if it were of no importance then ran his fingers through her thick strands. When it was down on her shoulders, Eric picked up the hat from her lap and arranged it on her head. When it was situated just right, he took a step away to admire his work. “Perfect. You might make a Christmas lover out of me yet.”

  “I do what I can for the cause.”

  “Good. Do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely,” she answered without hesitation.

  Eric pulled roughly an arm’s length of wide silver ribbon off its spool, then took out a pair of scissors he’d found stored in the box. He turned the shears until the sharp part was pointing toward himself and handed them to Nia. “Cut right there.”

  It only took one snip to slice through the material, but when she was done, he took the scissors away and set them along with the remaining ribbon on the table next to her.

  “I’m going to blindfold you now.”

  “I—”

  “Do you trust me?” he asked again, just as patiently as he had the first time. They’d played trust games before, and Nia knew if she wanted to quit at any time, all she had to do was say so.

  “With my life.” Nia closed her eyes, but then promptly opened them to give Eric a warning glare. “But if I hear one click from a camera, you’re a dead man.”

  His lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile. “Duly noted.”

  Content, she closed her eyes again and held still as he used the ribbon to blindfold her. The thin material was in no way the correct size for something like this. If she wanted, Nia could very well blink her eyes a couple of times to move it about so she could see, but that would ruin the game. So instead she held still as he tied the ribbon behind her head, before covering the back of the satin material with the bottom of the Santa hat.

  “Now clasp your hands together behind your back.”

  “Looks as if someone is getting into the Christmas spirit after all,” she said as she did as he requested.

  “Oh yeah, I’m feeling all kinds of jolly.”

  Being unable to see, she tried her best to figure out what he was up to. She had a general idea that was confirmed when she heard the scissors cut through another piece of fabric. Then, as she’d expected, her hands were gathered behind her and tied together with what felt like ribbon.

  Nia wiggled her fingers and moved her wrists back and forth, testing the bonds, but they didn’t give. “Satisfied, Kinky Klause?”

  “Close.” The sharp sound of something being pulled across the floor startled her. She jerked and almost lost her balance, but as usual, Eric came to her rescue and helped her right herself.

  “Careful.”

  “I’d be more careful if I knew what was going on.”

  “Yeah.” The scraping sound grew closer. “But where’s the fun in that?”

  “What are you…?” Before she could finish her sentence, Eric lifted her leg then set her foot on what felt like one of the kitchen chairs. Her hearing, extra sensitive now that her sight was restricted, detected the nimble snip of the scissors.

  Frowning, she tried to figure out what he was up to, but before she could ask, Eric placed her leg against the back of the cool chair and then tied her ankle to it. As soon as he was done, he lifted her free foot and placed it in a similar fashion, securing her to a second chair.

  “Eric,” she whispered.

  “Shh…” Eric took hold of her hips and pulled her dangerously close to the edge of the table. Her feeling of vulnerability increased tenfold as he pushed the two chairs out a bit, forcing her legs to spread lewdly.

  Silence was something she could not do. Nia knew he was her husband and he’d seen parts of her body she’d never even seen, but this just seemed vulgar, for her to be spread open, exposed before him. “Eric…this is just…”

  “Just the beginning.”

  Love is the hardest limit.

  Bottoms Up

  © 2010 Miranda Baker

  “I’m an Aries. We don’t submit.”

  “I’m a Leo. Wanna bet?”

  Destiny Blake senses that her boredom with blond pretty boys is about to come to a flesh-tingling end. Since her first love left her for a more experienced Domme, she’s honed her topping skills to a fine edge. Yet the idea of bottoming for the hard-bodied owner of her favorite BDSM club is an erotic challenge she can’t resist.

  Destiny isn’t Johnny Delcorral’s type. Tangling with her, even for one night, is a dangerous proposition for a man with good reason for needing his women submissive. But he suspects she's hiding a submissive streak under her dreadlocks and leather, and he hungers to make her obey—and curb her reckless spirit.

  The battle is on, both in the bedroom and out. Under Johnny’s knowing hands, she is dismayed to discover she’s enjoying submission more than she cares to admit. And Johnny finds himself relishing her defiance instead of curbing it—and fighting a growing unease with his inability to find her boundaries.

  Until one night he pushes one step too far—and comes hard up against the one boundary he never expected to find.

  Warning: This book contains naked power struggles, sexually charged spankings, kink from chains to canes, an Upstairs sex club, a hot m/f/m ménage, and absolutely everything the title promises.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Bottoms Up:

  So this is what it feels like to be a sub.

  The thought hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her brain rebelled. She was no sub. She wouldn’t let this happen. For three years, ever since Damian had left her for that crazy bitch with the snake whip, she had immersed herself in Dominance. She wasn’t going to let Johnny Delcorral destroy all of her hard work in one night, damn it, just because she had, once again, done something rash.

  Her bustier hit the floor. Johnny pinched her right nipple, hard. She gasped. It felt like he had pinched her clit. The clip gripped her tight flesh with piercing pain. Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t cry out.

  “Good girl. Ready for the other one?”

  She nodded.

  Again she felt the hard pinch of his fingers, the pleasure, the pain, then just the pleasure. She felt her body temperature rising. He gave the chain between the clips a slight tug, and she thrust her breasts forward.

  “Tell me how that feels. Do you like it?”

  She pressed her lips together.

&n
bsp; Johnny smiled. “Stubborn, much?” He ran his finger down her stomach. She watched, hypnotized by the chain swaying between her breasts.

  Johnny attached a second chain, then dropped it through the loop between her legs. His fingers were deft as he fastened the end of the delicate chain to her clit ring.

  He exerted the tiniest bit of pressure.

  She stepped forward.

  He grinned. “I think I like you leashed.”

  Destiny dropped her eyes, noticing on the way down that his cock was hard again. This passive role felt foreign to her. Yet at the same time, her pussy was so wet, so full, it was impossible to deny that she was enjoying his commands. Her body clamored to meet his demands. Subbing had been a lark, a dare, a new challenge, but now she feared it might become something more. The body was hardwired to the brain, the subconscious, the very essence of her being. And if her being was enjoying this, submitting to Johnny could change her life.

  Not going to happen.

  He could do his worst, his best, and she would not give up control of her Dominant self, not completely. She had agreed to follow his commands, and she would. She would do everything he asked. But she was going to try like hell not to enjoy it. If she failed, then fine, he’d make her orgasm. Whatever. She wasn’t going to let him in her head, though.

  Johnny raised his hand in an imperious yet courtly gesture. “Get on the bed. On your back.”

  She obeyed, but slowly. The chain tugged her clit and her nipples as she walked, driving her toward the bed even as her conflicted thoughts screamed caution.

  Before she could reconcile the two, she found herself stretched out on her back with Johnny standing between her legs. He reached up and caught the end of a retractable rope hanging from a track on the ceiling. He pulled it down to her center. She swallowed hard as he lifted the chain from her belly and carefully attached it to the rope. When he was finished, her small breasts hung by their peaks and her clit stood at attention.

  “Don’t move,” he said, diabolical eyes dancing as he stepped off the bed.

  As if she could. She was immobilized by the thin chains and ropes attached to her most delicate parts. She had no way to escape, especially when he drew soft, black cords from each corner of the bed and loosely captured her wrists and ankles. The wrist and ankle restraints were purely symbolic, but, boy, did they do their job well. The Domme part of her appreciated the fact that he left some play in the cords to protect her clit and her nipples, but she was dismayed to discover she liked feeling confined.

  Destiny closed her eyes to try to block out some of the disturbing sensory stimulation, but being sightless heightened the sensations coursing through her body. Her mouth felt swollen from his cock, and she could still taste his salt on her tongue. Her nipples swelled under the clips in a constant state of steadily increasing arousal. The thin chains connecting her nipples and clitoris conducted sharp, hot pleasure through her body in a continuous loop.

  She arched her back, gasping as the change in position intensified the effect, then almost screaming as she settled back on the bed and discovered that the retractable rope had just enough tension in it to give her clit and nipples a delicious tug. Her thighs fell wide. Her pelvis thrust toward the ceiling. She felt as if he had driven a wedge into a tiny crack in her façade and split her wide open.

  The bed slowly dipped. The chains dragged against her. It felt so good. So delicious. Oh, my God, she thought. What have I done?

  Through the eyes of desire…

  See Me

  © 2010 Natasha Moore

  These days, Lydia is feeling increasingly restless, and tired of being invisible. No one at work notices the nose-to-the-grindstone colleague dressed in business drab. Her neighbors don’t even know her name.

  No one knows she burns off her frustration by dancing to her favorite music, alone in her apartment. No one knows her closet is a wardrobe divided: monochrome and flats by day, silk and stilettos by night. No one knows her secret ritual has slowly evolved into private stripping…then dancing naked on her tiny balcony, daring someone—anyone—to notice.

  Then, at the apartment across the way, the curtains move.

  Wes can’t believe what he’s been missing by working the night shift. He is drawn to the amazing woman whose every sensual move makes his body ache. And when she catches him watching, the evening explodes into an erotic fantasy. Afterward, though, she confesses she’s not all she seems. No way is this fiery siren as boring and unlovable as she claims.

  And no way is he going to let her go without convincing her she is brave, beautiful…and the face he wants to see every morning.

  Warning: Contains erotic dancing, stripping for a stranger, hot sex on the balcony, and lots of sexy shoes.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for See Me:

  I can’t remember when I first started stripping to the music, but I remember clearly the night I first pulled open the curtains before I began to take off my clothes. It was only a couple weeks ago, on my birthday, and I had been yearning, somehow, to connect with other people.

  I’d still been timid fourteen days ago. That night, I’d drawn open the heavy curtain, but left the thin sheers closed. My heart had pounded against my ribs as I stripped down to my fancy black satin underwear to the rhythm of a salsa beat. I’d nervously stayed in the shadows that night, but I could have just as well been under a spotlight. It hadn’t mattered. There’d been no sliver of light to betray the movement of a curtain. Nobody saw me.

  Day by day, I grew bolder.

  Tonight, I step up to the curtains and yank them open without a second thought. Darkness has fallen. The lights are still on behind me. If anyone looks out, will they see more than my silhouette behind the sheers? Can they see the red silk that hugs my body? The heels that make me stand tall and thrust my breasts out?

  I can’t see out into the darkness and at this moment, I really don’t care.

  The throaty cry of the saxophone sends shivers up my spine and I slowly unknot the sash at my waist. I slide the narrow strip of silk through my fingers as the dress gradually parts. Although I know no one sees me, I imagine someone’s dark eyes staring at me out of the shadows. He’s looking at my cleavage laid bare by the parting red silk. The dress slides open and my nipples prickle as the fabric glides across their sensitive tips.

  Can he see them, this imaginary man watching me? Can he see my nipples tighten and poke against the fabric as it catches on their tips? In my mind he can see it all. I spread my arms wide and the dress floats to each side, revealing my pushed-up breasts, my exposed stomach, my barely-there panties, my long bare legs.

  I’m still moving my hips to the beat of the music. Still feeding off the heavy bass and the soaring brass. When I roll my shoulders, the open dress falls back. It can’t slide too far down my body because the tight sleeves halt the fall of the fabric. The sensual sway of the melody, like the sway of the dress, feeds the need building inside me.

  The need to move. The need to be seen.

  I can almost feel his eyes on me, this imaginary voyeur. His hungry gaze lingers on my tight nipples peeking up above the bra, then sweeps down my body, zeroing in on the spot between my legs. Can he tell I’m wet? Are my panties darker between my legs? My hand drifts down and I cup my sex, sliding my palm along the damp silk. I press tightly against my pussy and feel the heat on my hand.

  The dress is in the way now. I need to be free. I grab the edge of one sleeve and tug, dragging it down my arm until I finally pull it off. My skin is sweaty and the last sleeve sticks, clinging as if it doesn’t want to let go, as if it wants to keep me bound in the red silk forever

  But soon I’m free and I begin to strut around the room to the beat of the music, the dress hanging from my hand, sweeping the floor behind me.

  Is he watching? Does he see me? I toss away the dress and tear open the sheers. My reflection stares back at me in the wide expanse of glass, my eyes wide, my bra and panties dark against my pale skin. Is anyone out
there?

  See me! I want to scream. I dare you to see me!

  I open the sliding glass door as far as it will go, then step into the opening. A slight breeze brushes against my sweat-slicked skin. The sax is crying through the speakers. I grab onto the door jamb and the edge of the door, arch my back and toss my head as the saxophone hits the high note. My body is crying too. For a touch. For a taste.

  I brush my fingers lightly up my arm, across my shoulder, tickling the skin and sending shivers of awareness raining along the surface. I catch the bra strap with my finger and slide it off my shoulder. Then I do the same with the other side. The straps brush against my upper arms like the tips of teasing fingers. I leave the bra in place for a moment while I cup my breasts in my hands and roughly tease my aching nipples with my thumbs and forefingers. Flames of arousal lick my skin and I struggle not to tear the bra off my body. Instead, I focus on the music, match my movements with the sensual rhythm of the blues and continue to move.

  The vocals burn into my brain as the music steers my body. Lyrics of longing and loss, of need and sorrow, of searching and wandering. I sway to the music there in the doorway of my tiny balcony, in full view of anyone else craving more than this solitary existence.

  Or am I the only one?

  I reach behind me slowly and unhook the bra as I imagine that nameless, faceless lover watching my performance. His mouth waters. His palms itch. His cock aches with need. He can’t take his eyes off of me. He thinks I’m doing this show just for him.

  Since he’s invisible too, I don’t have to tell him, as the bra slides off my arms and hits the floor, that I’m doing it for myself. It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive. My pussy twitches in expectation. I’ve had enough teasing. Enough yearning.

  I step out onto the tiny balcony and lean back against the cool glass. The curtains of all the apartments facing me are still drawn tight. My eyes drift shut and I can feel the fingers stroking my skin. I sway slightly from side to side in time with the music, then sweep my hands up over my stomach and gather my breasts in my palms. They seem to swell beneath the kneading strokes. My nipples are even needier than before and I almost cry out when the fingers pull and pinch them.