Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Hannah has written dozens of BDSM romance novels, each one more successful than the last. There’s just one problem—she’s has no hands-on experience with any of the things she writes about.
When a good friend invites her to a collaring ceremony at The Enclave, a BDSM community known for its slave training program, Hannah leaps at the opportunity. Little does she dream that, before the night is over, she’s going to experience her own dungeon scene, including a delicious flogging at the hands of a tattooed bad boy.
Mason, chef at The Enclave and a hardcore player in the scene, is intrigued when he’s asked to handle the obviously clueless wannabe who’s clearly way out of her league. While the scene is hot, he shrugs off his attraction. He’s into knives, edge play and 24/7 submission, not BDSM lite.
When Hannah is offered—and accepts—a week’s stay for some D/s training, Mason watches from the sidelines, waiting for her to crash and burn. But there’s something there—a spark of genuine submission—that catches his attention and won’t let go. When he offers her the chance for a more intensive slave training experience, Hannah accepts.
Only to discover she’s in way, way over her head…
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Part One
Chapter 1
Hannah Davies stared at her laptop screen, fingers poised on the keys. She’d sat down with such determination earlier that morning, ready to at least try to write again after the long hiatus. She stared at the screen for a long while, willing herself to create something, damn it.
But she got distracted by two shimmering hummingbirds flitting around the bird feeder that hung from a tree just outside her window. And by her own wandering thoughts, though she couldn’t for the life of her remember where they’d wandered.
She snorted as she reread what she’d written so far: Chapter One.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, she pushed back from the desk. “Give it up, Davies. Not happening today.”
It wasn’t as if she had to write another novel in her bestselling Angelique Rose BDSM series. The royalties kept coming in, and Andy’s life insurance payout had been enough to live on for the rest of her life. But she’d been so hopeful that morning, eager to get the creative juices flowing once more.
Her ringing cell phone startled her.
Glad for the reprieve, Hannah jumped to her feet and followed the sound to the kitchen. She found the phone half hidden beneath a dish towel. As she grabbed it, Charlotte Rivers flashed across the screen.
“Hey there, Charlotte. What’s up?”
“I miss you, that’s what’s up.”
“I miss you, too,” Hannah replied sincerely. “I know I’ve been kind of a recluse lately,” she added.
Charlotte snorted. “Kind of? Understatement of the year. I thought you said last time we talked that things were better. That you were ready to get back into the swing of things.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I did say that. I know I’ve been a lousy friend these past months. I’m sorry.”
“No apologies necessary. Here’s your chance to make it up to me. I’ve got some news I want to share, and I want to do it in person. How about I swing by with some pastries? You make the coffee. Deal?”
“What news?” Hannah demanded. “Good news, I hope?”
“Excellent news,” Charlotte replied.
“Did Jim—” Hannah began excitedly.
“No fishing,” Charlotte chuckled, cutting her off. “I’ll tell you when I see you. I can be there in about forty-five minutes, if that works for you.”
Hannah glanced around her kitchen. The sink was full of unwashed dishes. The non-perishable groceries still sat on the counter from yesterday’s shopping run. The floor was gritty with crumbs. When had she become such a slob?
“Uh, the place is kind of a mess,” she hedged as she walked into the living room. It wasn’t much better. A half-bottle of wine and the glass were still on the coffee table, alongside the remains of the huge bowl of popcorn she’d had for dinner. She’d been binge-watching the first several seasons of Downton Abbey, her go-to show when she wanted to forget everything.
“I haven’t had breakfast yet. Would you rather meet at Tupelo Honey’s over on College Street?” Charlotte persisted. “That would work, too.”
“Yeah, that would be better,” Hannah agreed. She hadn’t had breakfast either, unless you counted three cups of coffee. And it would be good to see Charlotte in person. Of all her friends, Charlotte had been there for her during the really hard times when Andy had first been diagnosed, and at the end.
Not that she blamed the others. Most of them had been the wives of Andy’s friends, and their relationship was more as couples than as close girlfriends. Hannah had been the one who failed to return calls or reply to well-intentioned condolence emails. Nor had she exactly been much fun to be around this past year.
The only time she perked up was when one or both of the kids made time in their busy lives to come home for a visit. They’d come often during the first six months after the funeral, incredibly supportive, as she’d tried to be for them.
Charlotte’s call was well-timed, as Hannah had made a conscious decision to get back into writing and, by extension, living again. Before she faced the world, however, she definitely needed to shower and wash her hair.
“It’s”—she glanced down at her watch—“eight forty. How about we meet at ten? Does that work?”
“Like a charm.”
In the bathroom, Hannah shucked off Andy’s old Luella’s BBQ T-shirt she’d lived in the past two days and shimmied out of her baggy shorts. As she waited for the shower water to heat, she regarded herself in the mirror, something she usually avoided.
Her hair was no longer any discernible style, and looked shaggy and overgrown. She’d been too busy and distracted when Andy was sick to even think about making an appointment. Afterward, she hadn’t much seen the point. It was easier just to pull it back in a ponytail and forget about it.
She leaned closer to the mirror. There was a worry line between her brows that hadn’t been there before Andy’s diagnosis and her lips were drawn down at the corners in a perpetual frown. She forced herself to smile brightly for the mirror as she took a step back to examine her naked body.