Authors: Tymber Dalton
Tags: #Fiction, #Erotica, #Romance
The moans of pleasure. The crack of a whip splitting the air. The smack of a paddle against flesh. That’s what comes to mind for most people when they think of BDSM.
When you peel back the trappings, silence the heavy, throbbing bass line of the club music, what’s left are the beating hearts, the gasps, the exhaled breaths. Heels on a tile floor, or the rustle of fabric.
Sometimes, the best parts of BDSM lay nestled among the softer sounds of play.
Note: This book contains a heroine who is a domme.
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IMPRINT: Siren Sensations
Copyright © 2015 by Tymber Dalton
First E-book Publication: March 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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To Sir, Daddy, the pup—all part and parcel of Mr. B, who taught me how to listen to the stillness and appreciate the softer sounds.
The vignettes in this book aren’t exactly in chronological order compared to other books in the Suncoast Society series, and can be read independently of other books in the series. While all the books in the Suncoast Society series are standalone works which may be read independently of each other, the recommended reading order to avoid spoilers is as follows:
Domme by Default
The Reluctant Dom
The Denim Dom
A Clean Sweep
A Roll of the Dice
A Lovely Shade of Ouch
A Merry Little Kinkmas
A Very Kinky Valentine’s Day
Things Made Right
Most of the characters who appear in this book appear in other books in the Suncoast Society series. All titles are available from Siren-BookStrand.
Copyright © 2015
When people think of BDSM, it calls to mind the crack of whips, the moans, the screams, the cries.
A paddle smacking a fleshy ass.
of a riding crop or a cane being slashed through the air.
of a violet wand.
There is something to be said about the soft, subtle sounds of BDSM.
The heel of a boot against a tile floor.
A breath in an ear.
The rustle of a skirt.
A growl as teeth bite into flesh.
A zipper slowly sliding open.
of a lock closing on a collar.
It’s not just what you say—it’s how you say it. It always pays to weigh your words carefully.
Especially when you’re talking to a Dom.
And especially when it’s
* * * *
Shayla knelt waiting on the playroom floor, naked except for her leather collar. They’d just returned from Venture, the BDSM club they frequented.
Upon returning home, Tony, her husband and Master, had wordlessly pointed at the playroom and sent her with a snap of his fingers to await him there. With the door open, the dull sound of his bootheels on the tile as he walked down the hall toward their bedroom softly reverberated through her soul.
Those goddamned black leather motorcycle boots that she couldn’t even so much as
at in the closet now without getting wet.
And she knew that was the very reason he’d ordered them kept right by the closet door, where she’d have to see them, step around them, every time she went into the closet.
The quiet reminder, every bit as powerful as the collar around her neck and the ring on her finger, of who she willingly belonged to.
The same boots he’d worn the very first afternoon at the club when he’d worked with her, before they had a relationship, when he was leading her firsthand through the world of BDSM.
Soft. Supple. The earthy scent of the leather as heady an aroma as the man himself.
He’d been DMing tonight, filling in for an injured friend.
Which meant they didn’t get to play.
She’d not just wanted to play—she’d needed to play. Craved it.
Yes, she’d gotten pissy with him, more than a little mouthy when he’d told her she’d have to wait until they got home despite the fact that he’d spent the night before and all that day teasing and tormenting her, getting her hornier than hell, working her to a frenzy with a promise of a really hot forced orgasm scene there at the club.
Well, okay, more than a
pissy with him.
So, yeah, she’d admit it. The news hadn’t made her happy.
The dark look in his green eyes when he’d arched an eyebrow at her and told her to settle down.
The one that meant she’d crossed the line from playful banter into questioning his authority. The line she’d willingly agreed to give to him, to his sole discretion. Especially since she’d crossed that line in front of other people.
Their kinky friends.
At the BDSM club.
A place where, if nowhere else, he was her absolute authority.
Time to pay.
She had no doubt her ass would be feeling it tomorrow.
Could she safeword, stand up, and stand up to him?
Yes, but it would forever alter their dynamic.
was what she’d signed up for, agreed to.
If she didn’t obey him, if she didn’t take her lumps—especially when she damn well knew she’d
wouldn’t feel right about it.
And she knew why she’d earned them. Instead of accepting it when he’d told her they’d have to wait to play until they got home, instead of just saying, “Yes, Sir,” she’d spat out a word that even made their friend Tilly’s eyes widen.
Not just what she’d said. That
not have earned her strokes.
It was the
in which she’d said it.
And the fact that when Tony had stopped midturn and looked back at her, she hadn’t corrected herself.
Yes, okay, maybe she’d subconsciously been trying to push his buttons, pissed off that she was hornier than hell and he’d had three blowjobs since the night before.
Because then she’d looked him squarely in the eye and asked, “
In that same tone.
Maybe it was Tilly’s audibly sharp intake of breath, her friend literally clamping her mouth shut, that had finally shaken Shayla’s mood. Shayla actually took a second to look into her husband and Master’s eyes and realized,