Yes, Justin (Expanded Edition)
by Michele Zurlo
I was flattered and honored when Lori asked me to be part of this anthology. I felt like an onlooker enviously watching a great Shibari artist at work who had suddenly been selected as the next person who got to be tied up. It’s a great project, and it includes so many of my favorite authors.
I’m Michele Zurlo, author of many romance novels. During the day, I teach English, and in the evenings, romantic tales flow from my fingertips.
I’m not half as interesting as my characters. My childhood dreams tended to stretch no further than the next book in my to-be-read pile, and I aspired to be a librarian so I could read all day. I’m pretty impulsive when it comes to big decisions, especially when it’s something I’ve never done before. Writing is just one in a long line of impulsive decisions that turned out to showcase my great instincts.
Find out more at http://www.michelezurloauthor.com or @MZurloAuthor
After fifteen years and two kids, the romance has fled from Trish’s marriage. When a friend introduces her to BDSM, she decides it’s what she wants—to have her body and soul mastered by a man who is completely focused on her. And that’s not her husband, whose life revolves around his career.
Justin isn’t shocked when he finds out his wife is planning to cheat on him. They’ve been drifting apart for years, and he hates it. To save their marriage, he’ll carry out her kidnap fantasy, fulfill her desire to be dominated, and force her to confront the reasons she wanted to be there in the first place.
Steam wafted from the tub. She turned off the faucet and eased herself into the water. Cream coated the insides of her thighs, and sweat made other parts of her sticky. She wanted to be clean for Justin. Not since her wedding day had she so wanted to floor Justin with her appearance.
She washed and ran fresh water. Her time was almost up. Maybe he would join her in the tub. Maybe he would bend her over the side and fuck her. Maybe he would tie her to the door. Desire flared, and her hand crept lower, caressing her thigh before finding her soft folds. She pressed her clit. The little nub was already hard and ready.
“I told you not to do that.”
Her eyes flew open. She hadn’t heard the door. Her body was submerged to her shoulders, meaning she could only feel the cool air he brought on her face.
She smiled the most inviting smile she could muster. “I was just thinking about you.”
He pressed his lips together. Instead of feeling defensive, as she usually felt whenever he displayed this expression, she felt the tingle of anticipation.
“Stand up and let the water out.”
She did as he commanded, flipping the lever for the drain with her toe. He wrapped a towel around her and lifted her from the tub. She reached to take the towel from him so she could dry off, but he shook his head.
“No, Trish. You belong to me. I’ll take care of you.”
He patted her dry, and then he turned to the array of after-bath products on the counter. They were hers. She hadn’t noticed those before.
“Lie on the massage table, face down.”
The table had a place for her face to rest. She did as he commanded. He traced paths down her arms, across her shoulders, over her back and legs. There was no continuity to his pattern. He explored, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. Patricia shivered.
“I’m going to take out the plug. I need you to relax.”
A tug and it was gone. The sensation of fullness disappeared, leaving her feeling abandoned and empty. The wet sound of lotion being pumped caught her attention.
Not once in fifteen years had he ever attempted to do anything like this. As he rubbed in the cream, his hands massaged and caressed. It was as erotic as it was tender, as sexy as it was sweet.
He paid the same attention to the front of her body, lingering over her breasts and kneading them with care. When he finished, she felt like liquid. She could assume any shape he wanted. She would do anything he commanded. He brushed his finger over her lips, rubbing in her favorite lip balm.
“Spread your legs, slave.”
The narrowness of the table required her to bend her knees and drop her legs over the side. He teased her folds with the same gentle pressure he had used on her back. Wetness smeared where he touched. The massage had done its job.
“So wet, my slave. So wet for me.”
She wanted him to press harder, to thrust his fingers inside and fuck her with them. He withdrew, and she held in a whimper of protest.
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