SecretDom

The Devil’s Boudoir Series

Secret Dom

By Robin McKnight

Published by Horny Devil Publishing

Copyright 2013 Robin McKnight

ISBN 978-1-62518-033-9

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Devil’s Boudoir Series: Secret Dom Copyright © 2013 Robin McKnight
Edited by Frank Lee and Colette Stone

Cover art by Dee Allen

Electronic book publication

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Horny Devil Publishing LLC, P.O. Box 2508, Palm City, FL 34991 .

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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 author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Dedication

Secret Dom is dedicated to my mother and my sister, both of whom encouraged me to start writing and have been incredibly supportive of my budding career as an author. Thanks for everything!

Chapter One

The note flitted to the floor from between the sales papers and junk mail
she’d grabbe
d from the mail box as she unlocked the door. The envelope was stunning
—
ecru
—
with beautiful black calligraphy, sealed with a black silk ribbon and
a large “E” embossed on the face of the envelope. Oddly enough, there was no
address or post mark
—
just her name. Rissa kicked off her black patent leather stilettos, leaving them on the floor by the door. Her purse and the rest of the junk mail landed in a clumsy pile on the entry hall table. A tapestry of black and white furniture in clean lines and solid, patternless linens welcomed her home. Rissa had never been one for florals or bright colors. She appreciated more the discipline of a classic black and white pallet and the order of a simple room décor. Sleek and modern, her loft lacked the warmth of one thing
—
a man.

Since Deacon moved out, her loft seemed empty, emphasizing the fact that she was alone. She headed to the kitchen, trying not to notice all the missing things along her way. His briefcase next to her purse, his suit jacket slung over the back of the bar chair, his keys and wallet on the bar, even that yappy little Chihuahua, George, had seemed to make her loft seem more like home. With them gone, it felt more like an expensive hotel room. Even though eight and a half months had passed, she still missed him. As much as she missed the man
she’d fallen in love
with, she knew it was better this way. Deacon had changed. The man who walked
out that door was not the man who’d carried her across the threshold for the first
time. Still, she missed just having another person in the room. The gorgeous actors on her favorite primetime dramas only provided so much stimulation. Taking on a roommate, as her boss had suggested, would solve the problem of loneliness, but it
wouldn’t warm her bed at n
ight.

She set the mystery envelope on the counter and poured herself a glass of Bordeaux. She stared out the window for a while before the sights of the happy couples made her heart hurt. A stolen kiss in the park, holding hands leaving a quaint coffee shop, stopping in the middle of the foot-bridge over the river for a slow dance in the moonlight; it seemed like a lifetime ago when it was her enjoying those little romantic gestures, but now she was lucky to get a sympathetic kiss on the cheek from the elderly door man in her building. Turning back to her glass and the envelope, she carried them from the kitchen to the living room, leaving the haunting memories of love and romance to play out on the streets without her. Opting for the sofa instead of the kitchen table, she sat down and sipped her wine before turning her attention to the envelope in front of her. Odd, but then again, with everyone she knew either getting married or having babies it was more than likely just an invitation to one more event that would give her an excuse to shop for a new pair of shoes and an overpriced gift. She pulled the ribbon, and the envelope fell open as her breath caught in her throat. The contents of the envelope were even more stunning than the envelope itself. Gold filigree bordered the deep black satin-textured background, while gold-embossed text rose from the flat card. The inscription there, however, was more cryptic than the mysterious envelope.

The moment I saw you, I knew, yours is the only submission I crave. The
choice is yours to make, but if you’ll take a chance, the reward will be more than
worth the risk. -E

She ran through the list of people in her life who might have sent the letter, but no one stuck out. A momentary panic had her looking around to make sure the doors and windows were locked as she thought about all the books and movies that started with a stalker
’
s note, but usually those letters were made out of cut up magazines, not the stunning calligraphy of the one she received. Shrugging it off as one of her friends trying to make her feel better about being single, she smiled and thought maybe she should have sent herself flowers like she used to do in college to ward off her match-making roommate.

She finished her glass of wine and dropped the letter in the trash as she went to pour a second.
A hot bath and a good night’s sleep, maybe a date with the realty listings for some place that didn’t feel so lonely
was in order, but instead of heading to the bathroom, she found herself picking the beautiful note out of the trash. Something about it called to her
—
the word
“submission
.
” A secret she kept hidden,
only Deacon, a handful of people from the BDSM scene, and the man who
introduced her to the lifestyle would have known that “submission” would mean
something to her. There were so few people in the world who knew about her predilection for submission that it had to mean whoever sent the note knew her and
wouldn’t be trying to hurt her
. Or at least she hoped that was the case, because the
alternative was more like something she’d watch on one of her favorite crime shows
than her own reality.

She wished she knew more about who sent it or what it meant, but the subtle scent of expensive cologne that wafted up from the paper and the fantasy of some gorgeous stranger admiring her and willing enough to go to all that trouble would get her through the night. Setting the card and envelope on her night stand then her wine glass on the side of the tub, she turned on the hot water as high as it would go and dumped in a handful of salts. A few lit sandalwood candles combined with the dimmed lights, she felt herself finally begin to relax.

She stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, poking and prodding her face, as the tub filled to the brim. The stress of her job in high finance was starting to show in the lines on her skin, but thirty-four seemed a bit young for wrinkles and Botox. She pulled her long, dark hair up into a loose top knot and began stripping out of her clothes, making a mental note to hit the tanning bed and spend a few extra minutes in the gym, and yet, her attention kept being pulled elsewhere. The mystery letter caught the corner of her eye,
and she couldn’t help but smile sli
ghtly at her secret admirer.

Rissa slipped slowly into the hot water and lay back as the water and the scent of sandalwood enveloped her in a cocoon of relaxation. Her second glass of wine pushed the last of the stress of the day away, and she sighed heavily. An image started to form in her head of who this mystery man might be
—
a tall, dark,
strong, caring…Dom. Her eyes closed and her hands began to roam over her body, the way she imagined her secret admirer’s would. Down over the swell of her
breasts, she found her beaded nipples, taut and sensitive. She flicked them gently and rolled her palms over them in circles until they were as tight as they could get. Cupping her breasts, she pinched both nipples between her thumb and forefingers squeezing harder until she gasped. Her skin prickled and flushed as the fantasy of the mysterious stranger in her head became more intense and even more lifelike judging by the way her body was reacting to the mere thought of being back in the capable hands of a genuine Dom.

Her head fell back, and her spine arched as her knees fell slightly apart. Her clit pulsed in anticipation. One hand released her breast and ran down over her flat belly to the apex of her parted thighs. Her hands mimicking the movements of the man in her mind, her middle finger parted the smooth, swollen lips of her pussy to ever so lightly circle her clit. One hand still pinched her nipple, alternating between the two, while she slid her thumb between her thighs, parting her lips even more as she pinched and tugged on her clit, building up the intensity of her pleasure. Rolling her clit between her fingers, the rest of the world disappeared. Nothing existed but the man in her dream and the pleasure building low in her belly.

Her body began to undulate as her fingers traveled further down to the entrance of her passage. First one, then two fingers stretched her sex as she slowly pumped her fingers in and out of herself. Her thumb pressed against her clit, and she slipped a third finger into her passage. Her little finger rubbed against the entrance to her ass as she began to pump faster into her core, and her body began to move, riding her own hand. Her breath quickened, and each inch of her skin felt ready to burst as she imagined her mystery Dom pleasing her. Strong hands, muscles bulging, tensing with control and power, and the faint hint of a deep, velvet baritone guiding her pleasure consumed her imagination.

She bit down on her lip to hold in her screams of pleasure, to keep from
coming so quickly, but it didn’t do much good
. The slight jolt of pain pushed her over the edge, her body contracting around her fingers wildly as she came hard and fast, free-falling into the blissful spasms of her orgasm. Her body trembled, and she felt breathless as she came back to reality, the cool bath water surrounding her sensitive skin. A disappointed sigh left her lips as she pushed herself up in the tub. Languid limbs went through the motions of scrubbing her skin, lathering her hair, washing the stresses of the day away. Pulling the plug and rinsing her hair in the faucet, she stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in a plush towel. Her mind was a million miles away, still lost in the ebb and flow of a power exchange with the
faceless man she’d conjured to match the mystery note. Padding to the bed, her
fingers moved of their own volition over the edges of the note on the nightstand. Dropping the towel, she picked up the note and laid it on the pillow next to her. The subtle scent of cologne wafted across her senses like a delicate caress, and she closed her eyes to savor it. The heady mix of wine combined with her orgasm relaxed her enough that moments after falling into her satin sheets, she slept better than she had in weeks.

Chapter Two

Bitter scents of dark roasted coffee beans mingled with the sweet aromas of pumpkin, vanilla, caramel and chocolate. Cinnamon and hazelnut pastries taunted her from behind the thick glass of the bakery cabinet while she stood in line at her usual coffee stop on the way to work.
She’d given up
caffeine weeks ago, hoping to shed those extra uninvited pounds that kept hanging around, but she still stopped in at
The Common Grounds every morning on the way to work. Decaf, skinny vanilla
latte and an egg white, spinach and Gouda breakfast wrap. She
’d ordered it so often the Barista behind the counter didn’t even have to ask, but this morning, the
pumpkin spice latte was calling her name, and she was powerless to resist its siren call.