Synopsis
One scorching-hot lesson could leave her begging for more.
The Maison Chronicles,
Book 3
Reeling from the
double whammy of her Dom’s abandonment, and accusations of colluding with a
plagiarizing author, all literary agent Camille Winter wants is some
low-profile, drama-free quality time.
Just as she’s settling
into a Maison Domine cabin with her to-be-read pile and a full slate of spa
appointments, she finds herself sweet talked into playing topless assistant so
some Dominant can run a BDSM educational demo.
Architect Damien
Winter is on a relationship hiatus, so he focuses his dominant energies on
teaching BDSM classes. A chance encounter in Maison’s parking lot with a woman
who angrily insists she’s no sub—though every line of her body screams
otherwise—turns shocking when she winds up as temporary replacement for his
demonstration partner.
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Excerpt
Three hours later, he was on his way up to Maison Domine. With
his smartphone calling out directions, he could keep all his focus on the
scenery and the satellite rock station he was piping through his speakers. The
freeways of LA weren’t much for the view, but once he hit the mountains…wow. It
was like the trees drained away all his tension. Or maybe he was relaxing
because he was closer to sating his needs.
After missing the turnoff the first time he drove by, Damien
pulled a U-turn and crept back down the road until he saw the weathered wood sign
with an arrow pointing up a narrow, tree-lined road.
His car rolled down the long drive, soundtracked by Guns N’
Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle”, then burst into a wide-open clearing with a
jaw-dropping view of the surrounding mountains. A large rustic structure took
up the right half of the clearing, with most of the rest devoted to parking.
More cars filled the lot than he’d expected for a Friday afternoon, but if
other Angelinos had had weeks like his, maybe it wasn’t that big a surprise.
Parking his car, he wondered what the large building held. Yes,
he’d heard other kinksters rave about the private club, but he’d been to his
fair share of upscale establishments before. What set this one apart?
The answer sauntered across the parking lot, seeming to come
from nowhere and heading for the front door. The woman’s body hit him like a
wrecking ball. Every sense went on high alert and his heart jacked up its beat.
Jet-black hair spilled around her shoulders in soft curls,
obscuring her face. Her arms were crossed as she walked, as if warding off the
mild day’s nonexistent cold. Slumping shoulders drew more attention to the
beautiful hourglass shape of her back, her body encased in a flowing, black
dress that clung in all the right places. She looked tall, maybe eye level to
his chin, though maybe that was her black combat boots. Not fragile—supple.
Warm.
And crying. Her shoulders were shaking as she turned away from
the building, facing him head-on. His demolition experts had nothing on that
look. He wanted to kiss her reddened nose, wipe the tears from under her eyes.
He popped open his door and headed for her.
The woman’s eyes widened and she froze, a deer in the
headlights.
Car door open, keys still in the ignition, nothing mattered but
this woman. He approached slowly, not wanting to alarm her. “Are you okay?” His
voice echoed through the parking lot, though they weren’t that far apart.
The dress swirled around her knees, tossed by the wind whipping
around the mountaintop. The soft neckline of her dress draped around her full
breasts. His palms itched to cup them.
She nodded, letting her hair once again hide her face, which
looked like it was made of the finest bone china. “Shitty week.”
He took a few steps closer, then paused. He saw faint tan lines
on her wrist, barely there, that looked like she’d been wearing a bracelet cuff
for some time. “Is he really worth crying over?”
Her pink lips clamped shut, then opened. “Look, thanks for your
concern, but, really, it’s none of your business.” She swiped aside her hair to
reveal twilight-blue eyes cracking with anger.
Her defiance stroked down his chest and reached for his growing
erection. “I’m sorry, but when I see a submissive alone and crying, I make it
my business.” He invaded her personal space until she had to tilt her chin up
to meet his eyes, but she didn’t back up. All traces of her dejection were
gone. Good.
The wind pulled at her curls as she jabbed a finger in his
chest, like she was digging straight for his racing heart. “I’m not a
submissve.”
Her nails weren’t painted or manicured, not high maintenance
like many women he’d dated. He found it refreshing. Authentic, like her anger.
“Not a submissive?” He grabbed the hand that had poked him and raised her wrist
to the light. Her pupils dilated and her breathing tightened. Her tongue darted
out across her bottom lip and Damien had to restrain a groan. His thumb stroked
along her inner wrist where her pulse was jumping like a living thing trying to
escape. “How long did you wear his ownership bracelet while you weren’t a
submissive?”
She tugged at her wrist. A halfhearted attempt, since her other
hand was clenched halfway to touching him. Being the ever-helpful Dominant, he
closed the space between them, pulling her wrist up to his lips and laying a kiss
on the pale flesh of her pulse point.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
In response, he let her go and stepped back. “I’m proving a
point.”
She swayed toward him before scowling and taking her own shuffle
backward.
Her cocked eyebrow made him ache to play her until she begged to
submit. She was a sassy thing and they had some chemistry crackling between
them—something he certainly didn’t have with Lara, his demo bottom. “If you’re
not a submissive, then I’m the Pope.”
“That’s your point?” Her jaw ticced and when her hands fisted on
her hips, it made her dress strain across her breasts. She looked beautiful
when angry.
Through sheer force of will he held his ground, keeping the
distance between them. “No, sweetheart, the point was that you’re not crying
anymore.”
Her eyes spit every insult her lips seemed unable to form. It
only made his cock harder. He replied with his most guileless smile, which only
seemed to infuriate her. With a clench-jawed scream, she pivoted away and headed
for the woods.
“See you later,” he called as she retreated. Yeah, coming up to
Maison Domine early had been a good idea. He’d need the extra time to learn
more about this mystery “not a submissive” woman.
About the Author
Skylar Kade, self-avowed hedonist and princess extraordinaire,
started her writing career after throwing aside yet another romance she could
not bring herself to finish. The run-on sentences! The purple prose! Oh, the
horror of it was just too much. So she sat down to write her own tale. Her
favorite part about writing is the extensive research.
She currently resides
in sunny Southern California, alternately cursing the polluted air and adoring
the weather. Skylar spends her time asking the cabana boys to bring her more
mimosas and feed her strawberries while she dreams up her next naughty
adventure.
She blogs at the
SkylarVerse and with the Nine Naughty Novelists.
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