Emmaline Hart has spent the last thirteen years putting everyone’s needs before her own. When she accepts a job writing the memoir of one of the medical field’s preeminent cancer researchers, she becomes involved with his dangerously attractive son with a penchant for pushing her boundaries. As the doctor’s story of secrets and cover-ups unravels, so does Emmaline’s view on everything she thought she knew about herself and the power of surrender.
Excerpt
“Do you want another glass of wine?” I ask abruptly, getting up from the chair swing.
“Sure,” Beckett says steadily, unfolding his large frame from the chair and following me into the house.
The sun has gone down while we were outside, and my kitchen is dark except for the pillar candles on the bar that I lit before dinner. I don’t turn on a light as I uncork the bottle and refill both of our glasses. I hand him his glass and take a healthy gulp from mine.
“So um, what do you like to do when, you know, you’re being dominant?” I ask, my teeth biting my lower lip.
Beckett pins me with his gaze. “You had a taste of it last weekend when I told you to hold onto the headboard. I didn’t restrain you with anything but my will, but you gave control to me. Did you like it?”
“Yes,” I whisper, looking down.
“Trust me,” he says, his voice low. “I will push your limits, but I will never push you past them. And if you want to stop, you say your safe word and we stop.”
I feel like I’ve been thrown into an alternate reality. How else do I explain the fact that I’m having a conversation about safe words with a wickedly gorgeous man in my kitchen, much less that I’m actually considering doing things with him that would require a safe word.
“Aren’t I supposed to have a list of the things I don’t want to do?” I ask a little desperately.
“No. Trust me, Emma.”
Strangely, I do. I’ve never been with a man I trusted more. There’s something about Beckett Black that makes me feel safe. Maybe it’s because he’s a doctor, or maybe it’s his absolute confidence and control in any situation. Whatever it is, I just know that I trust him, and some part of me desperately wants to embrace the unknown and explore this newfound sensuality I never even knew existed. I want to take a chance, to throw caution to the wind and be what I’ve dreamed of being—fearless. I like the sound of it. Fearless. It’s going to be my motto. In that instant, I know what I want to do. I want to say goodbye to timid Emma, the one who is full of doubts and insecurities. I want to quiet Tim’s voice in the back of my mind complaining about me being a prude and uptight. I want to be fearless.
“I trust you,” I say, slipping my hand into his. His eyes warm with approval, and I’m surprised to realize that I know his body well enough to feel him almost imperceptibly relax. I’m touched to realize how important to him my agreement had been, even though he’d been careful not to pressure me. I take a shaky breath.
“So, exactly how long have you been thinking about doing, um, things with me?” I ask.
“You have no idea,” he says with a groan, burying his hands in my hair and ravishing my mouth with his. He can bring me to my knees with a single kiss. I grip his deliciously tight ass, grinding my pelvis against his hardness.
I pull back slightly, my lips mere inches from his and whisper, “Tell me one thing.”
“Be careful Emma,” he says warningly, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t ask questions unless you’re sure you’re ready to hear the answers.”
“I want to know,” I insist, and I do, even though my heart is pounding. I try to remember some of the things I read when I’d researched the subject. “Have you ever wanted to spank me?”
“More than once,” he growls.
“Really?” I say, surprised. “When?” I am somehow fascinated.
“Alright, Angel, we’ll play this out,” he says, his eyes glittering with desire. “My palm definitely itched when you led me to believe I had just ordered wine for a recovering alcoholic, and when I told you to get into the shower and you instead tried to tell me what I was thinking, I wanted nothing more than to take you over my knee. You goad me constantly.”
I remember the looks he’d given me, and the way it had made me squirm.
“What would you have done?” I egg him on, emboldened by the way he’s looking at me with an irresistible combination of desire and power.
“This,” he says, unwrapping my arms from his waist. He turns me so that my back is to him and gently propels me forward toward my kitchen table until the tops of my thighs meet the table’s edge. “Grab the sides of the table,” he orders.
I do as he says, my heart pounding as my fingers grip the edges of the table, my nipples tightening with desire. With his hand on my back, he presses me forward until my aching breasts touch the tabletop and my cheek rests against its smooth surface. His left hand is splayed firmly over the middle of my back, holding me immobile. He leans over me, his lips so close to my ear that I can feel his breath, warm and sensuous.
“Don’t let go,” he warns, his voice quiet but unyielding. His knee nudges my legs slightly apart and I can feel myself grow wetter.
I close my eyes, bracing for the contact of his hand against my bottom. Instead, his hand caresses the curve of my ass, and I can feel the warmth of his touch through my jeans.
“Relax, Emmaline,” he whispers, his hand kneading my buttocks. Just as I relax my muscles, he lands one hard smack against my right butt cheek. I gasp. Somehow, I hadn’t thought he would hit me hard enough for it to actually hurt! He strokes my bottom again, alternately rubbing and squeezing each cheek, and I wiggle my butt slightly with anticipation. He chuckles and lands another stinging blow onto my left cheek. I grip the edge of the table tighter, grinding my pubic bone into the hard wood of the table. Despite the mild pain, it’s both stimulating and erotic, and I am inexplicably but undeniably turned on. He lightly traces the crack of my ass with his finger and I fight to catch my breath.
He brings his hand down in a resounding slap at the juncture of my thighs. I moan as the sensations roll over me—the sensuous tingle he has unleashed across my behind, the feel of his hand on my back, firm but unyielding, precluding any escape, the unexpected clench of my sex at the glancing blow. I grind against the table, desperate for more. But more of what? More of his hand on my ass? More of the strangely erotic feel of blows against my butt? More of feeling vulnerable and at his mercy? I don’t have any answers. All I know is that I want, I need, some sort of release from the sensation and yearning that is building inside me.
“Let go,” Beckett commands harshly, releasing his hold on me, and I let go of the table and stand up slowly. He turns me around and lifts me so I am sitting on the table facing him, my legs spread slightly so that he can stand between them.
“That was just a preview, Angel,” he says, his raspy voice uncompromising. “Next time I do that, it will be on my terms, not yours, and your ass will be bare and over my lap.”
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Image courtesy of Brynley Bush
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