I've taken author Lynn Crain up on her offer to participate in My Sexy Saturday. So here goes, seven sexy paragraphs from my upcoming Loose Id release The Commander's Club. Actually, it's a little bit more than seven, but who's counting?
Cassandra tried to sit still, but the dark corners of the
room gave her pause. Who might be lurking there, watching her? This might be
some sort of test. Her tension escalated along with her heart rate. Maybe they
wanted to intimidate her. If so, it was working beautifully, because she was
feeling decidedly edgy. Her pulse sped up as her imagination cranked into
overdrive. How bad would it be? More importantly, how long would it take her to
get the pictures she needed and split? She heard a door at the far end of the
room open and close, and turned toward the sound. In the shadows, she could
sense a presence waiting, watching her, then the sconces went out and a
spotlight hit her full in the face. Suddenly she was blinded because of the contrast.
“Stand up, cher,”
a soft male voice drawled.
Startled, Cassandra squinted trying to peer into the stygian
darkness he stood in as his Southern twang ran over her like tupelo honey,
shocking the hell out of her. His voice might be sweet, but there was steel
behind it, she could tell. And was it just a little familiar? Surely she’d
remember such a singular male presence. She bit her lip, ashamed of her body’s
primitive reaction. “What?” she asked, stalling.
“I said stand up, cher.” The order was repeated resolutely.
Nibbling her lower lip at the Cajun endearment, she jumped
up, obeying even as she fought her desire to do so. He wasn’t shouting, but
there was a weight of authority in his tone that she instinctively responded to,
despite the fact that it pissed her off. It was as if he commanded the room.
But damn it, he didn’t command her. She had to remember that and make sure that
he knew it too. Annoyed by the order and the fact that he was keeping to the
shadows, she scowled in his general direction. This had to be her trainer, her
own personal Dom, and he was a smooth-talking Cajun jerk hiding in the dark. Raising
her chin in indignation, she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “This is
ridiculous. Come out of there and let me see you, you coward.”
“Quiet. I didn’t tell you to talk.”
Her sex clutched at his stern tone, shocking the hell out of
her, and a shiver went up her spine. Real
smooth move, calling him a coward. Apparently she’d touched a nerve. What
the hell was he going to do to her? Her breath caught in her throat at the
thought, even as her clitoris tingled to life. Oh my! This imperious jerk hiding in the shadows is not going to get to
me. I’d no doubt run a mile if we met in broad daylight. It didn’t change
the fact that she felt on display, in the spotlight, and under his command. She
couldn’t help squirming, as a long silence, freighted with intensity, went by.
Why didn’t he say something, do something?
“I’m your personal trainer. You may refer to me as Sir or
Master, but only when permitted to.”
Master! It was
standard operating procedure in BDSM clubs, she knew that from her research and
choice in reading material, but the thought still rankled. No fucking way was
she calling him Master.
“Say it, cher,” he demanded.
She jumped, startled by his vehemence. Again that stupid, sappy
nickname. So why did her heart melt a little when he said it? Because she was
so love starved. Although how she could equate love with the heat rushing
through her, she didn’t know; still, her mind went there. Licking her lips, she
blurted out the less onerous title: “Sir.” There was no denying him if she
wanted to stick around. And suddenly she very much wanted to stay. She had to
gain entrance to the club’s inner sanctum, didn’t she? She could do this. The
fact that this was turning her on sexually was a shameful secret she needed to
keep to herself.
“Very good,” he said softly. “Now take off your shoes, sugar.”
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