Authors: Teresa Noelle Roberts
On a satin couch, a chubby man in hot pants and a dog collar was feeding grapes to a woman in a latex catsuit. Over by the fireplace, a bearded nun flicked a rubber flogger at the rear of a matronly lady, and the tangle of limbs in a dark corner told her that at least three people, all naked except for their masks, were getting to know each other very well indeed.
Carla hiked up the front of her velvet basque for the umpteenth time. She’d worked hard to keep her figure, but the leather trousers that were comfortable a decade ago required a shoehorn to get into and out of. Her heels, an impulse sale purchase from a shop aimed at girls half her age, were killing her. As for the silver mask, a relic from a New Year’s Eve do, it had cut her peripheral vision to almost zero.
Which was why she felt rather than heard the bald man who’d appeared at her side. Mainly because he’d greeted her with a heavy slap across her behind.
Two eyes peered out from a Dracula mask, and he swished a black cape that Carla suspected had come from his kids’ Halloween box.
. Are you ready to play?” His attempt at a sexy growl sounded more like indigestion.
“Um…I’m not sure.”
Dracula grasped her butt cheek. “Of course you are.”
“Ow!” Carla shot backwards out of reach. “I’d really rather you didn’t do that.”
a skittish little thing, aren’t we? This is a fetish party, love. What did you expect? Look around you.”
She had. Too much. Glancing at the panting, giggling mass of people of all ages, shapes and sizes in various states of fancy dress and fancy undress, she just felt ridiculous.
Dracula clamped his fingers round her wrist, and Carla wrenched her arm away. This party might have been some people’s wildest dreams come true.
. She now knew it wasn’t hers.
“Actually, I was just on my way out. I really don’t think this is me.”
He waggled eyebrows that reminded Carla of caterpillars. “Then why are you here, you naughty little minx?”
Carla gagged as he ran a fat finger down her cleavage. In any other situation, she’d have kicked him in the nuts and called for help. Not in here. Hitting Dracula in the balls might save her from getting pawed again, but there was no way she wanted to draw any attention to herself. A dignified exit was the best she could hope for now.
“You know, I don’t really know why I’m here, and I’m not sure I should be. In fact, this has probably been one of the biggest mistakes of my life.”
Dracula’s pudgy claw clamped down on her wrist.
Stop right there.
Another man appeared in Carla’s vision. She had to crane her neck to take in all of him, and what she did see was dressed from head to toe in black—boots, jeans and silk shirt. His thick, dark hair was slicked back from a tanned forehead, his eyes obscured by a black silk mask.
Dracula squared up to the new man. “What’s it got to do with you, pal?”
“A lot. The lady is with me.”
That accent… It was perfect English with a hint of something more exotic. An image slid into her mind and made her want to giggle. He was the man in the mask. Zorro.
“So why don’t you just leave us to it, Dracula?”
Carla made to protest, then clamped her lips together. While Zorro and Dracula beat the crap out of each other, she could quietly slip away.
“You don’t bring your own food to this kind of party, mate, and even if you do, it’s share and share alike around here,” said Dracula.
“Firstly, I’m not your mate, and second, I never share.” Zorro sneered and very beautifully, Carla decided, transfixed by his full, sensual lips. He hadn’t resorted to silly gear either, just what he’d found in his closet, by the look of it.
. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted this kind of scene either and was exploring or curious like her.
Dracula stepped closer until he was face-to-chest with Zorro. “Then you shouldn’t be here.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t and neither should my girlfriend. We’re both leaving.”
Carla turned her back and headed for the door. Before she knew it, Zorro’s arm was at her elbow, propelling her out onto the landing. She shook off his arm. Shit. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. But
a fire, her wicked side whispered. Although he made no attempt to touch her again, his footsteps followed her as she hobbled down the marble staircase that led to the foyer.
“Please don’t come after me. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself,” she said, making it into the foyer without breaking her ankle.
“I’m sure you are. My question is, what on earth are you doing here?”
She turned, one hand on the polished balustrade to steady herself. What was she doing here? It was a question she’d asked herself ever since she’d managed to get an invite to this fetish party. It had been on her list of Mad Things to Do since her husband, Stephen, had died four years previously, along with giving up her job and using Stephen’s inheritance to go to university. In fact, it was only in the past few weeks that she’d finally found the courage to embrace the desires she’d pushed into the darkest corners of her subconscious while her husband was alive—and that afterwards she’d been too crushed by grief and betrayal to even contemplate.
This party was meant to be her first step, a safe, toe-in-the-water adventure suggested by a friend of a former work colleague.
She fished in her bag for her mobile. “I have no idea, and right now I’m leaving.”
Zorro sighed deeply, causing Carla to look at him more closely. His eyes were darkest caramel, glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Yes. I’m guessing we both thought this was a good idea at the time,” he said.
Sparks flew between them, or at least they flew from her to him. Even with the mask obscuring the top half of his face, she could tell he was sinfully gorgeous, and as for that accent, it made her want to drool. She couldn’t place it, but, judging by the tanned hand, she guessed he was at least partly Mediterranean. Automatically, she checked out his ring finger. There was no pale band where a ring might have been, though that didn’t mean he was single. She just couldn’t bear to hook up with a man prepared to hurt his partner the way that Stephen had done to her.
Down here in the hall, the situation had started to edge back into her comfort zone, and she smiled. “A friend of a friend I used to work with mentioned this place to me; now I wish she hadn’t. What about you?”
“Something like that… I can see you don’t belong here. Neither of us does.”
Though he hadn’t so much as touched her, the intense look he gave her reached out and caressed her whole body. She felt as if she had been stripped naked by his words.
You don’t belong here. Neither of us does.
The party had been a disaster, but meeting this man might be fate. She’d never felt such a powerful and instant attraction to a man before, not even with Stephen. Was this the moment when she would finally dare to take a chance? With this exotic stranger?
Out of Control
Teresa Noelle Roberts
He’s got her tied up, but she’s got him out of control.
Glass artist Jen Kessler has hit the jackpot—a cheap apartment in a charming Victorian house, complete with a sexy, intense, buttoned-down landlord…who may or may not have a riding crop in his bedroom.
She’s not looking for a lover, but when her innocent, impulsive hug sparks kisses as hot as molten glass, it leads to bondage, spankings, and more naughtiness that, up to now, she had only tasted.
His new tenant may have wild, dyed hair and an unconventional job, but Cornell math professor Drake Matthews admires the work ethic that got her out of debt. Then he’s stunned at how quickly she destroys decades of his carefully cultivated self-control.
Soon their sexual and emotional passions push them to the edge—and beyond. But it’s not all good, dirty fun. As Drake takes more and more control of Jen in the bedroom, her deeply ingrained independent streak pushes back. And it’ll take more than a shared penchant for ropes, paddling, and coffee to overcome pasts that could unravel their relationship before it begins.
Warning: Contains kinky sex, molten glass, geeky higher mathematics, family secrets, and irresponsible consumption of coffee.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
Out of Control
Copyright © 2014 by Teresa Noelle Roberts
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Ramona Lockwood
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: April 2013
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