Authors: Desiree Holt
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
I Dare You
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
I Dare You Copyright © 2009 Desiree Holt
Edited by Helen Woodall
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book Publication April 2009
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
I DARE YOU
To my very own personal hero, who dared me to be myself.
This story is not intended to be a realistic presentation of a true BDSM relationship.
The behavior of both the hero and heroine is not safe in any real situation. This is strictly a fantasy.
I Dare You
Shannon Gregory tossed her keys and her purse on the hall table, kicked off her very uncomfortable shoes and wondered if her week could possibly get any crappier.
The new junior partner at her law firm was turning out to be the bitch of the world, starting the week by copping a case Shannon had been babysitting for weeks. Then her secretary had quit without notice and thank you so much for that touch of professionalism. Tonight she’d come out of the office to find a flat tire on her car and roadside service backed up the wazoo.
But now, well after eight o’clock, the final blow landed. She’d come home to find a note from Mike taped to the door—
Took my stuff, key in usual place
Ah yes, Mr. Macho Michael Houston, who had simply walked out of her life rather than discuss what was really wrong between them. It wouldn’t have taken much time, either. She could sum it all up in one short word—sex! Or lack of it.
You’d think people who’d been together for six months could have a conversation about sex,” she muttered to herself as she crumpled the note in her fist and picked up the key laying next to her purse. What a jerk. What an asshole. What an egotistical prick.
Damn him anyway.
Okay, so she hadn’t been the most knowledgeable person in bed when they met.
Unlike a lot of her friends, she hadn’t played bed roulette and become the sophisticate of eroticism. She’d just never been able to do it. When Mike came into her life, for the first time she wanted to be open to things, but her inbred hang-ups kept getting in the way.
She tried to tell him she really wanted to learn about the things she’d never done.
Wanted to spice things up a little. But she’d made it come out all wrong, made it sound 5
as if they were things she
want to do and he’d clammed up. Somewhere in the whole mess they’d sent each other mixed signals and suddenly there was this gigantic wall between them that grew taller and taller until he just stopped calling altogether.
Stopped showing up. Nothing but silence until the note tonight.
She checked every place he’d kept his things—clothes, books, CDs. All gone. And the asshole hadn’t even had the decency to do this face-to-face.
Stomping into her bedroom, Shannon yanked off her business clothes and tugged on shorts and a t-shirt.
Maybe Cock Robin will have a message for me tonight.
A tiny thrill skated through her at the thought. Cock Robin. Her new almost-lover.
The man on the computer. Some people might think the name too obvious, or completely tacky. For some reason she found it cute and appealing. Maybe it was her tacky sense of humor.
Her pulse ratcheted up with anticipation and liquid seeped from her already-throbbing cunt. Just the thought of him turned her on and she dragged her hand over the crotch of her shorts, feeling her shaved labia beneath the fabric. Why couldn’t she have gotten to this point with Mike? Or did she just feel safer because the man couldn’t see her? Couldn’t see
She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. Had been for almost a month. Restless and frustrated, seeking answers she couldn’t seem to get from Mike, she’d started surfing the web. Looking for places she’d heard about where people could discuss their sexual problems and hang-ups. Discover how to enhance their sex lives. Before long the computer was calling to her like a siren, so much so that even the nights when Mike was there, after he fell asleep, she’d sneak downstairs and log on to the chat rooms.
Maybe she’d hoped to find a solution before everything went completely to hell.
Shannon was flabbergasted at many of the things she’d found online. Things she was sure her friend Marti knew about. Maybe things
knew about. Except her.
I Dare You
Daringly she’d even logged on to a couple of chat rooms, laughingly choosing Misty as her chat-room identification. She was about as far from a “Misty” as one could get.
Women named Misty were usually five-two with masses of thick blonde curls, blue eyes that looked permanently dilated, boobs bigger than watermelons and nonexistent hips. Shannon Gregory was five-six, a nice comfortable C cup with hips she preferred to call lush rather than lumpy and straight hair that at best could be called shiny. Cut chin length so she always looked professional.
Was that part of the problem with Mike? Did she look too professional in bed? Act too professional? Too cold? Too…unapproachable?
But now Mike had blown her off and finding answers became even more of an obsession with her. She was very careful with questions at first, but she really wanted to know what people who were into bondage and ménage felt. Why they did it. What they got out of it. Before long she became so obsessed with it she spent hours every evening trolling sites and talking to people.
That was how she met Cock Robin.
Somehow they managed to single each other out from the other voices in one of the chat rooms. Then one night there it was—the first IM from him. When it popped up in her specially created in-box she was tempted to delete it. After all, she didn’t even know who the person was. She knew all about the danger of meeting people in chat rooms.
She watched television and read the papers. But she was feeling so needy, his short conversation bytes were so appealing and the temptation was so great she put common sense aside. Now it had become a habit.
Once she got comfortable in the chat rooms and saw the kinds of things other people said, she became bolder, even asking specific questions. But with Cock Robin she felt shy, as if he could see right through her monitor. But little by little he coaxed her into discussing her intimacy issues and what she wanted out of a relationship.
Sometimes she blushed when she thought of the things she’d written to him.
Now they had progressed to a point where she could discuss almost anything with him. Read almost anything he wrote.
In the beginning she tried to imagine what he looked like. Was he tall? Short?
Muscular? Skinny? What color hair did he have? Oh god, what if he was a dumpy, balding, seventy-year-old man who got his jollies online with women like her? She’d known this was a risk to begin with but she’d discovered a need in her she hadn’t known existed, a need now so great she preferred to create her own image of him—six foot plus, thick sun-streaked brown hair, coffee-colored eyes, rippling muscles. It shocked her to realize the image she’d created was almost a duplicate of Mike, but try as she might, she couldn’t wipe it from her mind.
She did get him to admit he was in his mid-thirties, but that was all he would tell her about himself. Not that she could blame him since she gave him no information at all about herself. But that was one of her rules. Too chancy. So besides his approximate age, all she knew was they were both unattached. Boy, was she. At least now.
But there was a growing attachment that both tempted and terrified her.
In the kitchen she grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine from the fridge and snagged a glass from the cupboard before sitting down at her computer.
An icon was flashing when she turned on her monitor. Taking a sip of her wine, she clicked on it and the message opened.
Hi! Are you hot for me tonight, Misty? Did your cunt get wet when you saw the icon flash?
If it wasn’t before, it was now, so wet she was sure she’d soaked the seat of the chair.
Yes. Very. Too bad you aren’t here to do anything about it.
Now why hadn’t Mike been willing to tease her like this? Sometimes she sensed a need in him so strong he forced himself to keep it on a tight leash but try as she might she hadn’t been able to unlock it.
I Dare You
Are you wearing any clothes?
Shorts and t-shirt, she typed back.
Take off your shorts. Right now, Misty. I know you. Don’t try to fool me.
She almost expected to see the words in big, bold letters. The first time he’d asked her to do something for him—kidded her into it—she’d screwed up her courage, reminding herself he could be a thousand miles away.
Want to play a little game?
I’m sitting here trying to imagine what you look like. Take off your top.
Come on. Do a little striptease. Remember, you asked if men liked that.
Shocked, she’d almost shut down and deleted the IM. But a dark thrill was beckoning her and she’d thought,
Come on. Take off your top and press your nipples against the monitor.
She protested he couldn’t see her but he told her it was okay, he had a good imagination. Feeling incredibly stupid, she’d slipped off her t-shirt and pressed herself to the monitor screen.
Gorgeous. I can almost feel them.
After that he took things up in increments.
Pinch your nipples for me. Tell me how it feels. Harder.
Hold your breasts in your hands and pretend it’s me. Come on, just try it for me.
: Are you wearing panties? Sexy ones? I’ll bet they are. How about describing them for me?
The tenor of the exchange changed so subtly she almost didn’t notice. Then one day she realized everything he said was a command and given in a way he knew she would obey. Aware that everything about her was changing, in a panic she’d shut down the 9
computer and not even gone near it for almost a week. But the restless need that plagued her overrode any other feelings. Finally she gave in and logged back on. All his messages were there waiting for her. They all said the same thing—
Where are you? Why
have you run away?
When she didn’t answer he wrote,
Don’t be frightened. I would never hurt you. Ever.
That’s not what I’m about.
Just like that she was back into the role.
They’d been IMing back and forth again for two weeks now. Their conversations grew bolder, his commands more graphic. They made her squirm in the beginning, but she soon found the whole thing an incredible turn-on. The first time she actually fucked herself with her fingers and described it to him, she thought she’d die of embarrassment. Then she reminded herself he couldn’t see her.