Lorelei James - Bound

She headed to Cherry Starr’s Web site to see what types of books she wrote. Oh, wow. She wrote naughty books. The stuff Amery’s mother would’ve called filthy porn. Then again, her mother hadn’t balked at all when it came to sneaking True Confessions magazine.

The world was full of judgmental hypocrites.

The title His Whip-smart Mistress had an intriguing cover. A half-naked woman in knee-high leather boots, a miniskirt, and a bustier, wielding a whip over a man on his knees, his arms tied behind his back with rope, his head bowed.

That’s when the first warning bell chimed.

Amery clicked on the next title Hog-tied and Whip-kissed . That cover featured a bare-chested man holding the end of a whip to the woman’s bright red lips. Her torso was completely wrapped in rope and she was bent at such an angle that part of her butt cheek showed—a butt cheek that the guy had his hand on.

So today, of all days, she would get contacted by an author who writes books about . . . the type of tying-up things that Amery was dealing with understanding about Ronin?

Bullshit. She did not believe in coincidences. Ronin had to have given this woman her contact information. Projects of this nature did not just fall in her lap. Amery hit REPLY.

Cherry Starr,

Before we get into the quote stage, may I ask how you got my name?

Best, Amery Hardwick ~ Hardwick Designs

Rather than fuming about Ronin’s stealthy approach—throwing her a new business bone in the hopes it’d spur her to contact him sooner—she closed up shop for the day.

Needing fresh air, she strolled down to the Sixteenth Street mall. The Greek place still ran a four-dollar gyro special on Mondays, so she took her sandwich and salad outside beneath the umbrella and people-watched, hoping it’d clear her mind.

Fat lot of good that did. She saw scarves hanging in the windows and thought of Ronin. She saw candles in the window and thought of Ronin. She saw a display of men’s ties and thought of Ronin. The Japanese takeout place reminded her of Ronin.

That’s because this issue isn’t going away. You can’t ignore it. And your biggest problem is that part of Ronin intrigues and excites you as much as it scares you.

That stopped her in the middle of the sidewalk.

She had liked it when Ronin used scarves or even her own clothing to tie her up during foreplay and sex. She’d found an odd kind of freedom in knowing it pleased him.

Didn’t that make her subservient? Putting his needs above her own?

But Amery couldn’t come up with a single instance where Ronin hadn’t seen to her needs first. Every. Single. Time.

Plus, Ronin never made her feel subservient. She wasn’t there strictly for his pleasure. If anything, the opposite was true. He went above and beyond giving her pleasure . . . and always first.

Now that she’d sorted that out, what did she do next?

By the time Amery had returned to her loft she hadn’t come up with an answer.

Out of habit she turned on her laptop and checked her e-mail. Well, well, another e-mail from Cherry Starr.

Amery,

I know your work because you’ve done some brochures and flyers for my family’s campground. And sorry for coming off mysterious, but Cherry Starr is my pen name and no one in my family knows I write erotica—and I’d like to keep it that way.

Before we go any further, is there such a thing as client confidentiality?

Cherry~

Amery had done several brochures over the years for different campgrounds. Some camps were church based; some were family focused and wouldn’t allow singles or couples without children to camp there. She understood Cherry’s reluctance to reveal her identity without some guarantee Amery wouldn’t blab. She typed back:

Cherry,

Yes, I can promise you client confidentiality. I’m not trying to be rude, but I see that you write books about bondage, and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to tell me about the BDSM lifestyle. What does this have to do with your cover design? Not a damn thing. So my questions really are more on a personal side.

A~

Two hours later, a response popped up in Amery’s in-box.

Amery,

I actually don’t mind answering questions—knowledge is power, and I’m happy to use my experience—limited as it is—to clear up misconceptions.

No, I’m not in the life. I’ve dabbled and done a few “drive-bys,” but I haven’t found a situation or a man who . . . fit me. That said, there is a difference between BDSM and bondage.

In the BDSM lifestyle one person is the Dominant and the other submissive—even if they’re “playing” for only one night. The relationship between the Dom and the sub is sexual—more often than not.

Things are . . . a little trickier when it comes to explaining bondage. It’s a release for some people to be tied up to the point they can’t move, they can’t think, they exist solely as a vessel. Some rope enthusiasts want to be bound by someone they have no other intimate relations with, so the binding process is not always sexual. Sometimes it’s strictly psychological. Then there are the artistic bondage disciplines, where the beauty of the ties and configuration of knots is more about showcasing the rope master’s artistry than emphasizing the sexual aspect of the scene.

Amery pushed away from the computer screen and rubbed her eyes. Every time Ronin had immobilized her, he’d made it sensual. He couldn’t touch her enough. Being bound had allowed him to explore her body and her reactions without restriction.

And the truth was, she’d liked it, even when she hadn’t known what he was doing to her had an actual official name.

Maybe she was naive, but she’d had no idea relationships like those—BDSM, Dominants, submissives—existed. She considered herself open-minded, but it’d never work for her. If it worked for other people, great.

She sipped her coffee and grimaced that it’d gone cold before she continued reading Cherry’s response.

Still interested in working with me? I obviously have no opinions on this—LOL.

Cherry~

After rereading the e-mail, she pulled up her history from last night and spent another hour reading about shibari and kinbaku, determined that when she and Ronin finally had an honest conversation about it, she wouldn’t be completely clueless.

“A dozen? Sure, that’ll work.” Amery kept her head tilted toward her shoulder to hold the phone receiver in place as she typed the information into her weekly calendar. “No, thank you. I appreciate the business and I’m always excited to work on new projects.” She laughed. “Take care. See you Thursday.”

She dropped the receiver in the cradle and moved her neck in a circle to get the kinks out.

“You really need to invest in a wireless headset,” Molly said from the doorway.

Amery looked up. “I know. But the number of choices overwhelms me and I always end up walking out of the store without buying anything.”

“Do me a favor. Next time, let me come with you.”

“Deal. Did you need something?”

Molly glanced over her shoulder. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Ronin.

Her face heated. Since their “break” she’d kept herself occupied from the moment she woke up until her head hit the pillow in an attempt to stop thinking about him. It hadn’t worked, which annoyed her to no appreciable end. They’d been involved for three weeks. Three weeks . She shouldn’t have such a . . . bond with him. She’d certainly never missed Tyler the way she missed the sexy sensei. But she honestly didn’t know what she’d say to Ronin when she saw him, or why the prospect of seeing him made her heart race.