Here’s an excerpt from a new book I just finished. The possible titles are either Master’s Mistake or Bondage Betrayal. Here’s the working blurb. The book is on submission, so here’s hoping it get’s accepted. I hope you have a good weekend!
~Lila
Five years ago a terrible betrayal tore Roman and Savannah apart. Roman’s burgeoning interest in the world of BDSM and his desire to masters Savannah lead them deep into the heart of sexual fetish. A weekend away at the house of a high powered Dom was supposed to be the next step in their exploration of their Dominant/submissive relationship, but when their host convinces Roman to turn Savannah over to him for training, their loves is stretched beyond the breaking point. Savannah, believing that Roman has given her away forever, flees, but not before suffering at the hands of the sadistic Dom. Roman knows nothing of what she’s suffered, and believes Savannah left him because of his desires.
When they meet again five years later will the lies that separate them keep them apart, or will remembered love be enough to bring them back together?
Here’s an excerpt from the beginning of the book. Savannah has come to Chicago, not knowing that’s where Roman is.
Savannah pulled the black cat suit out of her bag. Sitting on the side of the bed in her generic hotel room she cursed herself for bringing it. If she didn’t have it with her she wouldn’t be able to go to one of Chicago’s notorious BDSM clubs. Instead she would have had to lie here, order room service and watch TV.
That sounded lovely. A night away from her studio so she couldn’t feel guilty for not working. A night to take in a bad made-for-TV movie while indulging with fries and a burger.
But if she spent her evening that way she would never sleep, instead she’d lie awake, haunted by the ghost of a young man and woman she’d once known.
To test herself, Savannah stuffed the cat-suit back into the bag and lay down on the bed. She turned the TV on, volume up, and tried to relax.
Car insurance, window cleaner, grocery store, ads flashed on the screen.
A brightly lit loft, near the beach. The roof sloped, skylights meeting the floor to ceiling windows so there was a seemingly endless expanse of glass. It let in the light from the West, from the beach. If she stood on a chair she could see the water over the roofs of the houses that stood between her and the water. There were boats too, their pointy tipped masts creating a webbing of wood and rope that obscured her view, but she could see it.
He’d bought it for her, bought her the light that streamed, golden and wonderful, into the room, warming the wood floors and her toes.
No, no, no. Watch the TV.
A sitcom about a family with some improbable quirk came on. Savannah tried to concentrate on the plot.
She sat before an easel in the bright light, a ragged bit of canvas carefully placed beneath it to catch flying flecks of paint. She couldn’t have a potter’s wheel in here, but there was a co-op not far away with wheels and two badly dilapidated kilns.
She was happy, blissfully so. She painted scenes of red and purple, lovers dancing in the dark. She used a single swipe of precious cerulean to highlight the woman’s dress.
The door opened. He was home.
She jumped from her easel, the work she’d devoted the past week to forgotten in a breath when he walked in. She skipped to the door, throwing herself into his arms. If she got paint on his suit they didn’t care. If his briefcase scuffed the floor as he dropped it they didn’t notice. There was nothing and no one in the whole of the world save them.
Their friends said there were too old to behave like high schoolers in love-they were 25, they should be more dignified-but they didn’t care. He was her prince, her beloved. She dug her fingers into his chestnut curls as he pressed her against the wall.
“Play?” he asked, his eyes promising dark and wonderful things.
Savannah said up, heart beating so hard she felt she might choke on it.
There would be no escaping memories tonight. She brushed at the tears that had formed in her eyes as she remembered that far away loft. She’d been happy there. It was the last time she could remember being happy.
But memories of the loft were only the backdrop for memories of him, and memories of him would soon lead her to places of darkness and suffering she dared not go. At least not as Savannah.
She pulled the cat suit from her bag, stripped off her clothes, and pulled it on. In this suit, in the persona she’d created, she could go to those dark places, remember those dark things.
She put on jeans and a turtleneck to cover the suit, leaving the hood piece and mask off. It was early still for an evening out, and the summer dusk still lingered though it was 8pm. She would walk, use the time to morph herself into the monster.
As Savannah stepped into the elevator the phone in her hotel room began to ring.
Scott Carpenter designed them, and I LOVE them both.
