Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 (13 page)

Once, and only once, he lost control of his inner Dom—and it cost him his fiancée. Now, no one knows how hard he works to keep his darker appetite for pain buried. No matter how much his saucy, confident associate producer makes his fingers itch to once again take up his riding crop.

Shiloh Holmes is a sub, but she’s no doormat. She’s always suspected Victor has the skills to feed her insatiable need for pain, and now she’s found the perfect way to crack his formidable control. Develop a new reality show, America’s Next Top sub…and dare him to compete.

Week after week, as Shiloh fearlessly challenges the real Victor to come out of hiding, he realizes his past mistake was only a blow to his pride. If he loses Shiloh, he could lose his heart.

Warning: Explicit sex, BDSM, reality television, a very reluctant Dom, an audacious sub willing to do anything to win for him, and one very wicked riding crop.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Hurt Me So Good:

“It’s a BDSM show.” Shiloh let a sultry smile curve her lips, but she didn’t look directly at him. She didn’t trust herself not to plop down into his lap. “If we set up the correct challenges, everyone will go home extremely happy regardless of who wins.”

He checked his watch, warning that his patience was almost gone. “Either this is a reality show or it’s not. There has to be a winner, and I won’t stand for cheating among my own employees.”

“It’s a dual competition.” Shiloh fought not to blurt out her response in a desperation plea. “We’ll have submissives competing to win the Dominants’ favor, but also a single Dominant could win the title of Master, if he selects the correct submissive to win it all.”

Ms. Kannes laughed. “By God, Victor, it’s brilliant. I could compete as one of the Dominants, with my submissive as one of the contestants. Patrick could compete too, and that would give us another two or three submissives, depending on who’s in his stable right now. If we can get another couple from Silken, then we’d have an interesting mix of newbies and experienced players. The experienced ones would be teaching the rest, as well as having a little friendly competition among us all.”

Frowning, Mr. Connagher shook his head. “There’s not going to be much drama between you and Patrick. You’re too evenly matched and know each other too well.”

Shiloh let out her breath and took a step closer to him, waiting until his gaze swung to her. “That’s why you should compete, sir.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth flattened into a hard slant, and his shoulders squared, chest broad and muscular in a universal signal of male dominance that his suit couldn’t conceal.

Her heart froze a moment and then exploded into a rapid, thunderous pace that made her ears roar. He didn’t refuse outright, though, which gave her the courage to continue. “The show needs a Master with a capital M. Someone who’ll really bring the competition to a peak. Based on our demographics, it should be a male, and preferably, his submissive should be female. It will be even more exciting if he’s unattached, so the unowned submissives all feel like they have a chance of winning his attention. The ultimate prize, then, will be the Master’s collar, not money like the typical reality show.”

Evidently he didn’t like that idea at all. Silence stretched out, painful and heavy, his midnight eyes locked on her. Her mouth went dry and her heart hammered, but she stood her ground without blinking or flinching in the wake of his intensity. She didn’t even dare breathe.

“You presume, then, that I’m not only a Dominant, but also a man who’d be interested in a giggling, immature submissive who’s incapable of any sort of serious play.” He blew out his breath in a low snort and turned to the other woman. “As though I’d give my collar to someone just because they thought they’d won a show that we set up from the very beginning.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Shiloh squeezed her hands together so hard she felt her nails digging into her skin. She fought to hide the fierce elation burning through her. He might be dismissive, but she’d been right all along. He did have a collar, he was Dominant, and if she played this right, it’d be impossible for him to back out. The competitor in him demanded excellence in all things, even a reality show.

Feigning indifference, she shrugged and turned away from the table. “Then perhaps you can recommend another Master.”

Shuffling through her carefully researched boards, she moved the most important one to the front. Her best friend and roommate—who just happened to be a graphic design artist—had helped with the artwork. A masked man stood on a dais, dressed like an English riding master with a wicked-looking whip in his right hand. Despite the costume, the man bore a marked resemblance to VCONN’s CEO.

Contestants knelt in an arc before him, all in submissive positions, head down, some stretched out prostrate before him. Two others stood on the steps to the dais but lower than him, a man and woman, also in Victorian riding wear. Despite their higher position than the contestants, they inclined their heads to the man above.

In bold letters across the top, the board read: 
One Master to rule them all.

“V,” Ms. Kannes breathed out, her eyes bright. “You’re perfect!”

“I don’t want to do it.” Yet he stared at the board, his right hand opening and closing into a fist, as though he ached to reach out and grab that whip. “There’s no way in hell I’m unleashing that side of me on a bunch of—”

Shiloh pulled out the next storyboard and his voice fell off. In this sketch, a woman knelt at the Master’s feet and leaned against his legs. One hand was wrapped around his thigh; her other fisted in his shirt as though she was trying to climb his body. Her face was pressed against him with her hair pulled aside to bare her back. Long red stripes marked her skin and the Master’s whip curled around her vulnerable body with the heading: 
One sub to please the Master—in any way he wishes.

He ground out, “It’s all wrong.”

Shiloh’s heart plummeted and her shoulders slumped with defeat. She’d gambled everything on this show. If he didn’t like it, then she’d totally misunderstood every single signal she’d picked up from him. She’d even had her friend stylize the winner after her, a deliberate message to him, if only he were paying attention.

She’d planned this show down to the smallest detail, dreaming about winning it all. Wrapping herself around him. Learning to please him in every single possible way he’d ever dreamed. Winning 
him
.

Her eyes felt hot and dry, and her bottom lip trembled. It was ridiculous to be heartbroken over a man who’d never touched her. Never looked into her eyes and burned with need. Never taken her on a long, hard ride to a sweetly painful submission they’d never forget.

“You came very close, Ms. Holmes.”

She whipped her head up.

Victor Connagher gave her a hard smile of teeth and dominance that wound her heart into knots and sent icy chills dripping down her spine. “I can live with the English riding style.” He kicked back in his chair and propped his limited-edition Lucchese boots on the edge of the conference table. “But this Master only uses a riding crop.”

Spicing up her sex life sounds exciting…until the fantasy hits the fan.

The Bottom Line

© 2010 Shelley Munro

When Maggie Drummond buys an erotic romance novel by mistake, she gets more than an unexpected eyeful. She gets an introduction to a world that arouses her to a fever pitch: Spanking.

Her boyfriend isn’t interested in pushing his vanilla-flavored sexual boundaries. Then there’s Connor Grey, who haunts her fantasies like a magical genie. As a source of masculine advice for her and her female friends, he’s off limits. The only safe place to explore her fetish is her anonymous blog.

The recent changes in Maggie don’t escape Connor’s notice. Now that her boyfriend has dropped her, he can finally—carefully—make his move. Given his family history, laying a hand on any woman, even in fun, is a line he’s reluctant to cross. But for Maggie? Anything the lady wants.

As Maggie gives in to the temptation to let Connor add some sin to her life, she finds herself juggling lies, half-truths, friendship and sensual delights. Her job is in jeopardy—and she’s falling in love. Exploring her fantasy is one thing, but she’s beginning to question if indulging her own pleasure is worth the cost to everyone around her. Especially Connor…

Warning: contains explicit sex, spanking, and the good, the bad and the ugly about friendship.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Bottom Line:
 

A grin formed on Connor’s face when he read the blog entry. Most people would label it a smirk. Hell, he knew exactly where Maggie could find a man.
He
was that man. Damn, he couldn’t take this. He had to talk to her today, come to an understanding.

Half an hour later, he leaned on the intercom button, and a curious neighbor let him inside—probably to stop the racket at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced up to the second floor and thumped on Maggie’s door. It took her a long time to answer. Finally, the door flew open. Maggie…her hair. It was the first time he’d ever seen it loose, and it rippled all the way down her back, stopping just above the curve of her ass.

“Hey.”
Weak, Connor
. He cleared the lump from his throat and sought something witty to say. His gaze slipped to her breasts. Rounded and sexy. Tempting. A distraction.

“Connor!” A soft blush crept over her cheeks and down her neck. “Having a good look?”

Connor wanted to explore the pink glow with his lips. “You shouldn’t answer the door dressed like that.”

“You’re early.” Maggie scowled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Watching her butt, he followed her into the kitchenette, mesmerized by the dark locks glinting under the artificial light. It took him another four steps before he realized all she wore was an oversize T-shirt. He glanced down. Great legs. Normally she hid them beneath ankle length skirts or baggy sweats.

“Should I make coffee?”

“Yes. I need a shower.” She padded down the passage and disappeared into a room at the end. Connor didn’t move until he heard the rattle of pipes and the distant spray of water. A visual formed in his mind. Dark hair dripping wet, nipples playing peek-a-boo while Maggie lazily soaped her body…
Hell.
The last thing he needed right now was to imagine her naked.

Coffee. Yeah. He forced himself to walk into the kitchen, arousal shooting through his veins and pooling in his groin. He needed to stick to the plan he’d formulated in the early hours of this morning, after he’d seen her blog entry.
Talk to her today
. Part A of the plan. Part B was keeping her permanently, but that was on a need-to-know basis.

Spanking—that might cause a few problems too, but first things first.

Coffee…

Connor was familiar with the layout of Maggie’s apartment since the Tight Five often hung out at her place. It didn’t take him long to make coffee. By the time the shower stopped, water dripped through the coffee filter and the fragrant scent of ground beans filled the kitchen.

He waited. Where was she? Five minutes passed, then five more. He imagined her drying her body, smoothing on her body lotion smelling of old-fashioned lavender, brushing the knots from her long hair and restraining it into the braid she favored.

He grasped the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened. Damn, he had to get his lust under control. He couldn’t touch her, except on a friendly basis. Not yet.
Patience, man
. Cursing softly, he grabbed two white china mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into them. He steeled himself when he heard footsteps. Seconds later he smelled lavender, and Maggie breezed into the kitchen.

“Why are you so early?” she asked. “Didn’t you see Gwen or whoever you’re going out with last night?”

“I’m not dating Gwen anymore. I’m solo for the moment.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. Damn, why did he sound like Romeo between Juliets? Despite public opinion, his bedroom didn’t have a revolving door.

“Since when? Won’t you walk lopsided now without a babe to balance you?” Maggie grinned and dropped into a stool beside him at the breakfast bar. She leaned over to switch on the stereo, her V-neck T-shirt gaping to display creamy white curves. His mind blanked, his fingers itching to touch her. Instead, he wrapped his hands around his mug and took a sip of coffee.
Baby steps and patience.

“I thought you liked Gwen,” she added.

“I
do
like her, but I felt like I was dating my sister.”

Maggie’s brown eyes widened. “Ouch. You didn’t tell her that, did you?”

“No. Our parting was amicable.” Her compassion made his heart melt. He wanted to hug her for caring about a woman she’d met only once.

“Do you have your eye on someone else?” She sipped her coffee and glanced at him over the rim of her mug.

“Not really,” he said, seeing an opening. “Gwen was always complaining about rugby season during winter. With training and Saturday games, I don’t have many free nights. I’m not desperate for a replacement. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you always have a woman.” White teeth nibbled her bottom lip. A cute furrow formed and vanished between her eyes, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Maggie, contrary to public opinion I don’t always have a woman around.”

“Can I ask a personal question?”

“Sure.” He wouldn’t guarantee a reply, but her expression told him she knew that.

“What about sex? I mean, I like sex. The closeness and sleeping with a guy.” She paused, looked him straight in the eye. “Do you miss sex when you’re not going out with someone?”

Connor laughed. This conversation couldn’t have gone better if he’d scripted it. “Sure, I miss sex.” He hesitated, wondering how honest he should be with her. “This is just between us, right?”

“Of course. I would never share a private conversation with any of the others.”

Connor knew it was true. While their other friends did gossip amongst themselves, he’d never heard Maggie repeat anything confidential. Not once. “Yeah, I miss sex,” he said. “I love to explore a woman’s body, her scent and taste, her soft curves. Masturbation doesn’t bring the same pleasure. My hand never feels quite the same as tight, hot pussy.”