Category Archives: fiction

Announcement – “Comfortable” available on Amazon!

My novella “Comfortable” is now available for purchase as an e-book on the Amazon Kindle store. At just $1.99 it’s a great deal for a summer read. Don’t have a Kindle? Never fear! You don’t need a Kindle to read the book. Simply download a free Kindle reading app on your Android device, iPhone, iPad, or computer. With free wireless delivery to any of those devices, you’ll be reading in no time.


 Stephanie and David are stuck in a dead end relationship, simply going about their daily motions instead of living their lives to the fullest. When Stephanie begins a new past time, she finds something she never thought she’d find – a woman she’s attracted to who brings a new spark to her life that is otherwise cold. When her betrayal comes out, relationships change and evolve into something totally different and unexpected. When love and honor is on the line, you’ll do things you never thought you’d do. 

Make sure to check it out if you’re  in the market for a hot summer read (it’s erotica!) or a romance novel that brings things to a new and different level.

“Comfortable” is now available for purchase at

Original Fiction: “Beat”

The intense bass line of the music pounded into her skull. She could feel it deep inside her, pulsing and pushing her blood through her veins at a rate usually reserved for other activities. She had come here because she knew she could find him there, stalking the club for his next prey.
She had first been lured here by friends, and she had come completely unsure of what she’d find. She preferred quiet evenings in her apartment to social events where she’d have to talk and meet new people. That evening she’d caught glimpses of him and every time he’d entered her line of sight, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was like.
At the time he had seemed tame enough, but she could tell there was an undercurrent of ferocity laying dormant. The lithe moves, the sharp eyes and the strong, capable hands. She was a student of male anatomy in general, and a student of male hands in particular. She had a theory that you could tell a lot about a person by the way their hands looked. His hands told her that he enjoyed his work, whatever it was, and that those hands could bring about destruction and happiness at the same time.
A couple of times she’d caught him looking at her with a curious look in his eye, but she brushed it off, not yet ready to admit to herself that she wanted something. Denial had always been her strong suit.
Her friend had given her knowing looks that whole evening, but she’d brushed them off like everything else in her life. Not now. Not yet.
Months rolled by and she almost forgot about him. Almost. Happenstance pulled her back into his world and she once again found herself in his territory. This time though, things had changed. She’d changed. She wasn’t the shaky, scared little girl she was before. Or at least that’s what she thought.
It was a cold night, but she’d picked a short skirt and very tall shoes. She knew every man in there had his eyes on her ass and she made sure to shake it just enough to titillate them. Eat your heart out, she almost was saying.
He was there again that night, lurking in the shadows and coyly enjoying the sport of the whole thing. His manicured nails tapped on the table rhythmically, polished in a deep mahogany shade. Most men would call it a bold choice, but for him it was second nature. That ass of hers called to him, a siren song amidst a sea of other sirens.
She didn’t dance like most girls, instead choosing to enjoy the scene more in a social setting. In many ways she was still unsure of her own body and how it worked, mostly because it often betrayed her. It tended to give away her secrets when she wanted to keep them secret, but as it so often happens, her body always had a way of knowing what it wanted even when her mind didn’t.
The bathroom was calling her name, and her kidneys were in desperate need of relief. On her way in she caught him looking at her and she bit her lip, ducking into the crowded room and she sucked in a deep breath at the thought of him.
Her panties were damp when she came out, as if the scrap of fabric could be called panties in the first place. She looked down for moment and ran into what felt like a brick wall. Only this wall had arms and she quickly looked up, seeing him right there in front of her. The pit of her stomach dropped out and once again her body started betraying her.
His eyes were dark and bored a hole right through her soul. He didn’t even say anything, just smiled coyly and wound his long, slender fingers around her neck. He could feel her pulse there, beating uncontrollably. It made him excited to feel the blood coursing through her veins. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and while the flight or fight instinct should have been kicking in, once again her body decided differently.
Those strong fingers curled around the base of her neck and grabbed at the hair there. The height difference between them became readily apparently when he pulled and her head fell back with little resistance. Her breath was coming quickly now and she was embarrassed at her reactions to all of this. Normally she’d be fighting and protesting, but there was something about him that made her want to give in. To submit to him.
With his fingers still wrapped through her hair, he led them through the space, through the people, to a little door just off the main floor. Ever gangly on her feet, she stumbled and bumbled, knowing she should be screaming but instead wondering what he was doing. This felt dangerous. This felt different. This wasn’t her safety zone. And the surprising thing was that she liked it.
The air was cold outside, much colder than when she’d entered the building. Immediately her soft little nipples pebbled up under the thin top she wore and he roughly grabbed them, twisting and enjoying the gasps she was making. Out here in the cold, the beat of the music could still be felt from inside the building. The whole time, he kept his eyes on hers. Speaking without speaking and telling her that she was his, even if just for this short time.
With his hand still at the nape of her neck, he pushed her into the cold brick wall of the building and she turned her head just enough so that he could still see one green eye from the side. The look of abject terror was overlaid with curiosity and intrigue in that eye. That was the look he dared to bring out in her. That was the look he was hoping to see and the look he had risked claiming her for.
The tiny skirt of hers was first to go, pulled up over the round, plump ass he had long admired. Each ass cheek was pale, too pale for his liking. Her skin was ivory white compared to his mocha tan and he spread his large hands out on each round globe. He pulled and kneaded them, his nails raking each time and leaving bright red streaks. The contrast of red to white was lovely and he knew that her ass looked better with his marks. She’d have more before he was done and probably would carry them with her for days after, a reminder of where she’d been and what he’d done.
He leaned into her, pressing his hard cock still securely behind a straining zipper into her ass and she gasped. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she’d feared this but also wanted it. Yes, she’d wanted it for a long time. It was something she’d denied many times. She craved the violence. The brutality. The taking.
He traced his fingers along the string between her ass cheeks, and he saw her puckered little hole clench and relax. It knew what was coming and while he knew he’d have to work for it, the end result would be more than worth it.
With deft fingers he pulled the little fabric aside and traced her lips, noting that she wasn’t protesting the invasion. In fact, her breath was becoming shallower and that look of terror was being replaced with one of pleasure. Pleasure mixed with pain and desire. That was ultimately the goal of this whole thing. There was a innate beauty when those things came together, a feral beauty springing forth from deep inside a person’s soul.
She felt his finger press into her and her nipples grated against the hard, cold building through her top. A plea escaped her lips and he growled at her, his other hand again wrapping around her neck and tightening ever so slightly. She felt like a common whore, in the alley behind a club with his fingers inside her ass and her skirt around her waist. A beautiful, used whore. This was what she was searching for all along. To be used for another’s pleasure was pleasure for her too.
He released her neck and she gasped, her vision clearing. Something cold and slithery dripped on her asshole and those lithe fingers worked it in with skill. She knew what was coming and she shook her head almost to say no. But for the third time that night, her body betrayed her and her found herself saying yes.
Firm hands grabbed her hips and strong thumbs pulled the round cheeks of her ass apart, giving him room to slide the head of his hard cock between warm skin and flesh. She groaned as he pressed into her, her body resisting at first and them ever so gradually giving into him.
A slow entry with a fast withdrawal followed by a slam, slam, slam over and over again. She moaned and cried, her hips arching back into him as his fingernails dug into her hips. She cried not because she disliked it, but instead because something inside of her was breaking. The long held belief that she was always to be strong, always to be independent, always to be the one in control. Here in this alley way with her ass being invaded, she felt herself changing.
His marks would litter her body the next day, the day after that and the day after that. He had made sure of that. He wanted her to be reminded of his will and how it was stronger than hers. How while there were no winners and losers, there certainly were more powerful and less powerful. Her tiny body would bear the result of his power.
His fingernails dug sharply into her hips as he came and his larger body fell into hers. He molded himself to her, kissing the back of her neck and brushing the sweaty hair from her forehead. Her eyes sparkled and spoke volumes to him. He whispered his thanks and kissed her temple. She smiled and giggled at his now sweet actions compared to the animalistic actions of only a few minutes previous.
When respective clothing was back in place he took her hand, his larger hand swallowing up her smaller hand. He led her back inside the club and checked to make sure she had enjoyed herself. The light he saw from inside her told him she had and that something had changed inside her. It had been an experience filled with growth.
They parted with a hug and whispered promises of next time. They were both sure there would be a next time, even if when that next time would happen was in doubt. It was a only a matter of time, you see. Planets take time to rotate. Bodies inevitably come back together. Flesh always seeks out flesh. It was a truth of the universe, one they both acknowledged.

“Rumors” – Original Fiction by Isabel

The music pounded and the bass line beat deep within my chest. The smell of musky perfume, sweat, desperation and excitement swam in my nose. Despite having nothing to drink for days, I felt drunk off my surroundings and my thoughts bubbled with the best kind of pleasure for me.
The club was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night and all around me the mating dances the local women were playing out. A flirt here; a grind there. A kiss on the neck; a kiss on the pussy. There wasn’t much in the way of romance out in the concrete jungle and quite frankly most of us liked it that way. We were the fast talking, fast running, fast moving of lesbian society. We had little time for finding dogs instead of kids and looking at china patterns for our commitment ceremonies.
Hell, most of us had never been to or been involved in a commitment ceremony. There were quiet whispers of disappointment when the cream colored envelopes arrived in anybody’s mailbox, announcing that one had dropped from our ranks and was off the market.
In a world where everybody was looking for something, I was looking for my next score. My next hit. My next fix that would tide me over until I had time once again for the trek to uptown where I could find the only good lesbian bar in my opinion. It had a nice mix of thick, thin, short haired and long haired. We all had our look and we stuck to them.
Just like we all had our vices. Ask anybody in the place and they could probably name off each woman’s poison. That one over there liked blow. The blond by the bar had a thing for high end shoes and pedicured toenails. The one grinding her fine ass on the brunette in jeans so tight I think they were airbrushed on shot tequila like athletes downed water.
My vice? I was in search of the high I could only get from watching others. Some liked feet, some liked rope, and some liked pain. But me, well I liked to watch. I was a voyeur. And a damn prolific one at that. Every spare minute I could I was sneaking away from the corporate grind to find myself in this place, stretched back in my private booth and getting a hard on for the action in front of me. It was an addiction I couldn’t break.
I came to search out the one woman none of us could put our proverbial finger on. Her moods were like the wind. One night she was blond with a bo-ho chic look, and the next she had jet black hair and leather pants. Rumors spread like wildfire about her. Some said she was a day trader, some a heroin dealer and some said she was a stock room girl at a big box store. Some swore they’d heard she’d fucked several Hollywood actresses and a US senator or two. Fuck, I didn’t care.
The game for me was simple – watch her like a hawk, get turned on to the point that my lingerie of choice for the evening was practically dripping and go home so I could fuck myself into a frenzy. I spent hours at home in the solace of my thoughts, pounding myself while remembering with crystal clarity every move she made.
We all wanted her, but none of the women I knew could ever testify they’d been with her. She was the ultimate enigma for me. The more I searched; the less I found. The more I watched; the less I observed.
Tonight though, she wasn’t showing. Figured. The one night I was really needing my fix and she wasn’t anywhere in sight. God, I fucking wanted her.
Two hours of waiting and watching combined with too many look-a-like drinks was quickly sending me to the restroom and I hoped it wasn’t busy. Round up enough women in one spot and you had a never ending line to pee.
Luck was on my side and the omnipresent line had somehow disappeared. I did my business and washed my hands dutifully, but then I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I glanced up and staring at me in the mirror like some kind of illusion in the Sahara was the ghost herself – the girl I was looking for.
My heart leapt in my throat and the pit of my stomach dropped out. For all the time I’d spent watching her, I hadn’t actually planned for meeting her.
She grinned at me, noir red lips set against brilliant white teeth. The glint in her eye was a mixture between evil and angel and made me pussy drip like never before. Dammit, she was hotter up close than from afar.
With a move so lithe ballerinas would be jealous, she leaned in and put her palms on the bathroom counter, surrounding me in her essence and smell. Whiffs of dark vanilla mixed with cinnamon crossed my nose and I craved to taste her like a fine dessert.
I stood there, frozen in the moment and unable to form words to say half of the things I’d always dreamed of saying to her. The problem with being a voyeur was you always pictured yourself outside of the situations you watched, not actively involved in them. When the moment actually happened, you couldn’t comprehend them.
The rosy tip of her tongue peaked out from between those pouty red lips and my heart altogether stopped when I felt it touch my skin at the middle of my neck, trailing its way up and over my jaw line. It left ice in its wake and set my body ablaze.
My eyes were glued to hers. Promises and unspoken desires rang through me, making me wish I could pull something out of my brain and out of my mouth.
Nothing came.
Her tongue flicked my fleshy earlobe and she bit it roughly between her perfect white teeth.
“Looking for me?” she whispered in my ear and I wondered where the pounding music of the club was. It was surprisingly quiet enough to hear the low dulcet sound of her voice.
I nodded meekly, still unable to find words or form anything other than what would likely be a very unlady-like and undignified grunt.
Suddenly though, my vision was extinguished. Light became dark and inside turned outside. The prized view disappeared from my sight.
“I know you watch me,” she whispered in my ear again. “I can feel your eyes on me every time I set foot in here. Do you like what you see? Do you bank it all in that pretty little head of yours? Do you go home and fuck yourself silly to the thought of me? I can see it now, your legs spread and you pumping yourself with some big black dildo. You probably have the biggest one that’s made, you dirty little slut.”
My knees buckled and I wondered how she knew all that. For as much as us lesbians gossiped, nobody knew about my favorite toy. It sat at the bottom of my bedside drawer, ready for use whenever I got home from watching her gyrate and grind her hips onto a different unsuspecting woman.
My mind was so focused on her words that I didn’t feel my arms being moved. Hell, I almost didn’t feel the cold steel wrapping around my wrist and certainly almost didn’t hear the click of the handcuffs as they locked my arms behind me.
She bent me over the sink and for a brief second I wondered why the damn bathroom was so deserted for a busy night.
I could feel the heat from her pussy through my pants and I wondered what she was wearing.
“Do you like that, little girl? I can tell you do. I can smell you through your pants. You like this. Bent over a dirty sink in a crowded club for everybody to see. Blindfolded and handcuffed. The voyeur likes being watched,” she said and I moaned a little at her words. This had never happened before and yet I was turned on beyond description already.
“I thought so,” she replied.
She grabbed my hips and pulled me back onto her pussy. Her heat made me positive that I would need to throw out the horribly expensive pants I was wearing. There’d simply be too much girl goo on them to clean.
Suddenly, she pulled my hair back and the pain I felt caused me to moan out again. To my shock though, it didn’t sound like the sound of pain I was used to hearing from myself. No, this felt good. I liked this pain.
Cold steel lifted off my wrists and my arms fell limply forward onto the cool granite countertop. My skin blazed and I was breathing roughly.
“When you’re ready for more, you’ll know how to find me. You always do.”
With that, she was gone. She’d left me blindfolded and bent over in a restroom. The door groaned shut and I realized my lacy thong was completely soaked through.
I never thought I’d actually meet her and now I’d done more than that. Another 60 seconds and I’m pretty sure she would have had me with a gooey mess running down my legs. Turning the tables turned out to be my biggest turn on.
I rushed home, throwing pieces of clothing off frantically as soon as I was inside the door to my apartment on my way to that very same big black dildo she’d mentioned. I fucked myself for hours, remembering the smell of her skin, the feel of her tongue, the heat of her pussy and everything in between. I went so hard for so long I actually fell asleep with my toy still in me.
My pants showed up next morning, now ruined from the set-in stain of my arousal, showed up behind my couch. Poking out from the left side back pocket was a little white business card, and there was only one person who could have put it there.
There was a phone number and a simple phrase printed in black text.
“Don’t believe the rumors.”

Fiction: Growth

I wish I could say I had more willpower when it came to things in life, but sadly I cannot say that. Willpower has never been one of my strong traits and with him it was no different.

He had a way of just looking at me and breaking through all my defenses I put up to keep the world out. His soft breath on my neck turned me into a quivery, wet mess and before long I’d do anything just to have him touch me. On more than one occasion I found myself embarrassingly pleading with him to touch me, tease me, torture me into that delicious place inside myself that I found most enjoyable.

It was a place I hadn’t gone to many times before and only he had taken me. The place where I felt like I was flying and yet grounded at the same time. It was a euphoric high that was better than any synthetic drug could dream of inducing. Sometimes it lasted for mere moments; other times it lasted for days. When I thought I couldn’t bring myself there and release my mental restraints, he brought me there.

The nights he physically restrained me I felt the best. There was something about the feel of rope or nylon cutting into my skin and limbs that made me feel safe and comforted. I knew I could trust him to keep me safe physically and mentally, but actually feeling it was something entirely different. To look in his eyes and see the emotion he felt for me. To know that I was giving this gift to him and he treasured it completely.

Because that’s what my submission was for him and me – a gift. I willingly gave him my power and he took good care of it. I wouldn’t do this for just anybody and he knew it. He had earned this right and I entrusted it to him very carefully. It took a lot of time to get us to the point where I could allow him to restrain all four of my limbs and I wouldn’t have a panic attack.

The first time I had been completely restrained I truly flew. That’s when my mind finally let go and allowed me freedom. It was intense and it was amazing. When we were done I broke down and cried in his arms and he stroked my hair comforting me for hours.

That’s when he said he knew I was truly his. I had allowed him to cross my barriers and break me down, only to build me back up again. Where I was lacking before, I was bursting now. I had confidence I’d never experienced before him and while I knew he contributed to it, it had come from me too. I had grown and I had seen the light, so to speak. While we had grown as a couple, I had grown as an individual. I had grown as a woman and in particular as a submissive woman. He told me often how proud he was of me, how much he could see I had grown and changed and been made into a better version of myself. He said I didn’t need changing before but that the changes that had occurred were spectacular. I couldn’t agree with him more.

Every time his fingers ghosted over my skin I felt myself swelling inside, the person I was always meant to be coming out more and more. Maybe without him I would have reached this place inside me at some point in my life, but I don’t think it would have been quite so soon. Life as a whole is a journey, a process and growing up and growing older is no different.

“Kitten, I have something for you,” he whispered in my ear as I lay bound to our metal frame bed, naked and exposed for his use and enjoyment.

“Thank you so much, Daddy,” I said as my voice quivered. I could feel his love for me in his words and all throughout my body.

“Do you want me to put it on you or do you want to see it first?” he quietly asked.

It was a sly way of asking me if I trusted him, which of course I did wholly and completely.

“You can put it on, Daddy. I don’t need to see it first.”

I watched him move around the bed to a side drawer that I was not allowed in and he pulled out something. I saw the quick glint of metal and my heart leaped. We had talked about a bracelet or some other type of jewelry I could wear on a daily basis given that a full fledged collar was just practical nor was it our style.

The cool metal hit my skin and I practically signed when I heard it click shut around my wrist. I looked down and out of the edge of my line of sight I saw it. It was a beautiful silver heavy link chain with a heartshaped padlock holding it shut.

“I have the only key,” he said and I looked up to see him grinning and spinning a little key around in his fingers.

I smiled back, unable to contain my happiness and excitement about the whole thing. It was perfect in every way and I couldn’t ask for a better physical representation of our relationship.

He held the only key to my bracelet and he held the only key to my submission. He knew how to get inside my head, my heart and my soul and that’s how I liked it. There was no other who knew me like he did and no other who ever would know me like he did.

“Do you like it, Kitten?” he asked though I’m sure he already knew the answer.

I answered from the depths of my being.

“I love it, Daddy. It’s perfect,” I said with emotion.

He came around close to my head and leaned down, his lips brushing over mine. As I looked in his eyes, I saw everything I had been and everything I would be. So much growth since I had met him, but something told me there was so much more growth to come.

Fiction: The Claiming

The coffee shop smelled rich in fear and anticipation as I sat there, my leg shaking violently and my heart racing a mile a minute. I’d been sitting here for ten minutes and by the point I’m pretty sure you could have hooked me up to a car engine and powered the thing for a roadtrip on the adrenaline in my system alone.

I was more nervous for this than I had been for just about anything in my life.

I was meeting him today. The special man in my life. The one who completed me. The one who made me complete. The one who reached into my very soul and pulled out the black and twisted pieces of it for me to examine at length. He made me whole by allowing me to see my true nature.

We met as all modern kinskters do: online. After all, there aren’t that many bondage clubs out in the middle of Corn Country, USA. Sure, we lived close to the big city lights and dark alleyways, but neither of us were comfortable traveling such distances. Our search for the perfect person to complete ourselves had taken us online.

The world wide web was the perfect setting to meet and connect with people who shared the same interests. You could be as anonymous or as known as you wanted. In the snap of your fingers you could stop talking to someone if they annoyed you or if they freaked you out. I had plenty of those. Weirdos who wanted rape play. Foot fetishists. Submissive men wanting to try on their inner dominant. I’d talked to so many guys over the past year that I could spot them all from a mile a way now. It took a trained, practiced eye to appreciate and understand the good ones.

Sir popped up on my radar in the most inconspicuous way. I had been posting on a message board about random stuff and posted some of my erotic fiction. They were purely works of just that: fiction. Sir sent me an email complimenting me on my writing ability and asking if I had any more samples he might be able to read. I sent him some other things I had in the vault and we traded emails.

As days turned into weeks, I slowly began to look more and more forward to his emails. I hung on his every word and leaned into my screen when I read them. I spent hours corresponding with him, more than I ever intended to.

I was slowly becoming addicted to him.

Two months of emails led to instant messaging. The live one on one time I spent with him was heavenly. He seemed to be able to anticipate my every thought. We spent hours upon hours running through scenarios, fantasies, fetishes, everything. I couldn’t believe that someone other than me shared my desires. Sure, we differed on a few things. He liked the concept of cages and I was iffy about it, though the more he talked about caging up a girl for his use whenever he desired her, the more I found myself considering it myself. It seemed like my desires were slowly giving way to his. I found myself infatuated with him and not just because we were so mentally similar.

Four months of chatting online turned into phone calls. Whispers in the dark of night where I’d touch myself and he’d listen to me, giving me permission to come from my hand as if it was his. I found myself hearing his voice in my head when we weren’t talking. Wondering how Sir would like me to do something, if Sir would like this top on me, if Sir thought I should have that extra sugar cookie.

I couldn’t tell you how many times we had phone sex. Two, three, sometimes five times a night. He turned me on so much that it was nearly impossible to stop it. He would bring me right to the edge and then stop me, tell me to back off. There were many times I cried, begged for him to let me cum. Sometimes he would give in; often times he would not. I would wonder what I had done to upset him that he would not give me my orgasm, but one day the light clicked on in my head. They were not my orgasms. They never had been. They had always belonged to him. Even before I had met him. No man had turned me on like he did and it was likely no man ever would. The thought actually made me cry one night.

Eleven long months. Eleven of the most excruciating and most exhilarating months of my life.

I learned to trust him with my ever secret. I told him my life story and he told me his. Our relationship was not a one way street, you see. It was not just him learning about me. I learned about him as well.

In the twelfth month I knew Sir he finally asked if I wanted to meet. The way he phrased it made it my decision but ultimately it was not a decision at all. I could not have turned him down by now if I had wanted to. I desperately wanted him. The deepest parts of my soul craved him. He was the worst kind of addiction for me – one I feared I would never get over.

We arranged to meet for coffee. It seemed like a neutral enough meeting place. We picked somewhere halfway between our two locations, far enough that neither was in fear of seeing someone we knew and having to explain why we were there.

I couldn’t sleep for two days ahead of time. I spent a week preparing my body. I got waxed from my armpits down. I scented, lotioned, sprayed and perfumed everything. He had told me not to expect anything physical, but that if we both felt comfortable enough (and only if I consented in person to him) would anything else happen. That seemed fair enough to me. Ultimately the choice would be left to me. He said any dominant man who did otherwise was not the kind of dominant I would want. I didn’t disagree with that.

Sir picked out the outfit I would wear to meet him. By now he’d seem every article of clothing I owned, down to the jewelry in my jewelry box and the socks in my sock drawer. He selected a knee length black loose skirt and a white blouse with a green cardigan over it. I would wear no undergarments. He said he wanted to know that if I would allow him, his access to me would be full and complete. I told him he would know it was me for sure by the black fake flower hair clip I would put in my hair.

The day of our meeting dawned and I had never been more nervous. I spent hours getting carefully ready, making sure that not a hair was out of place on my head and not a single thread was loose on my clothing. My fingernails were perfect with a coat of clear nailpolish and my toes were lovely with black. Sir had also selected a pair of mid height strappy heels for me to wear as well. He said he liked the thought of my feet available for the world to see.

The traffic on the way to the coffee house was unbearable but it took my mind off what was coming. Red light after red light. Dammit, Murphy’s Law and I had never been friends and today was no different. I kept looking at the clock hoping that I wouldn’t be late. That was not something I wanted on my first meeting with Sir. Not at all.

My fears were unfounded though because I arrived ten minutes early. I ordered a latte and slipped into a seat at a free table. My fingers traced the rim of my mug as I watched my hands shake. I swear the people at the next table could hear the thud, thud, thud of my heartbeat it was so loud. I glanced at them and I felt as if they could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. It felt like a million degrees in the small, cramped coffee shop. Good god, why didn’t someone turn a fan on or something? Didn’t anybody else feel it? It was stifling.

The seconds clicked off on my watch and I almost missed the soft whisper of my name because I was paying more attention to my frantically beating heart than my surroundings.

I looked up and my world changed.

His hand was extended and I slowly took it, the planet tilting on its axis when he touched me for the first time. Every nerve felt like it had just been created and his eyes were the color of the fall trees when they’ve almost expired for the season. That dark woodsy green/red that sets my soul on fire. The color of deep amber and molten fire.

He sat down across from me and it took my entire will power not to drop to the floor right there and ask him to take me. As if there had ever been any doubt that I wanted to be his in the first place. It was now an overwhelming need. I needed to belong to him and be his in every way. I needed him to mark me and make me his.

Each passing second in his presence only solidified this need.

His smile widened and I felt the blush run across my cheeks. Sir picked up my hand and the pad of his thumb ran across my knuckles.

His breath came out all hoarse with his next words.

“I can’t believe you’re really mine, little one,” he said, looking at me with those eyes filled with fire and cutting through me like hot steel.

“I always was, Sir. You just had to claim me,” I whispered back.

His smile was genuine and his eyes said everything that he couldn’t or wouldn’t.

He’d already claimed me long ago. Now he was doing it for real.