As promised, here's an excerpt from my novella SEX, LIES AND BONDAGE TAPE, forthcoming in the KINK anthology, together with a story from Canadian author, Sasha White. BLURB Fitness instructor Kelly Burton is a woman on a mission, and this time it’s sneaking backstage at a rock concert to get super star Clayton Warren's autograph for her friend. What she doesn’t factor in is becoming privy to a big media secret, nor being captured by a sexy security guy who sends her pulse racing.
Backstage security man Tommy Samson’s speciality is sending rogue groupies on their way with a playful spank and a threat, but this woman is responding to his behaviour in an entirely different way and very soon they’re locked in hands-on-combat of an intimate kind, kicking off a sequence of crazy sex games back and forth across London.
When Kelly wants to track Tommy down, she has to resort to being a 'groupie' all over again, shanghaiing Clayton Warren and doing a deal over his big media secret to get hold of Tommy’s contact details. Kelly is a stubborn, independent woman who plays the men at their own games, but it only makes Tommy want more, and what Tommy wants…Tommy goes after.
EXCERPT(unedited) Tommy was still feeling that there was something odd about the job on Saturday afternoon, when he stepped out of the elevator and glanced up and down the carpeted corridor of the hotel. It was a cushy place, with solid wood doors and dark walls—a top class, expensive hotel. He was more familiar with hurrying stars out of back doors and into speeding cars to avoid the press, than this sort of number. He’d never had a job quite like it and, whilst he wasn’t in the mood for it, he nodded and smiled at the luxury of the surroundings.
Room 323 stood at the end of the corridor, beckoning to him. He approached slowly, still racking his brains trying to place Jennifer Sandringham, the client. He wasn’t a big movie buff; he’d rather listen to a good rock band play. Even so, he pretty much recognized most A List celebrities; at least, the sort of international stars who could afford to pay for a security man and a place like this. He should have looked her up on the net, but he’d been much more interested in trying to track down Kelly instead. Kelly was the only woman on his mind right now, had been from the moment he met her.
He rapped on the door. No answer, so he rapped again. He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and checked the address. The scrap of paper Daniel had scribbled the instructions down on definitely stated Room 323. He tried the handle and the door opened.
“Hello, is anybody home?” No response. He stood in the open doorway scanning the room, a reception area to a full suite of rooms by the looks of it. There was a window at the far end and doors to left and right, both closed. In the center of the space stood a fancy table, dominated by an explosion of flowers in a vase. A small envelope was propped against the display, and his name was scrawled across it. Apparently, he was in the right place.
He shut the door and walked over to the table, dumping his backpack on the floor. He picked up the envelope, turned it in his hands and lifted it to his nose. Beneath the smell of flowers from the display, he smelt a more exclusive scent. “The lady has expensive tastes.”
He tried again to place the woman’s name. Where was she anyway? He opened the envelope and pulled out a small white card.
When you’re ready, come into the bedroom. Whatever happens, remember that you have signed a contract to be at my beck and call, all night long…and Tommy Sampson has a reputation to keep. Tommy Sampson never lets a client down…
Tommy stared at the card, rereading it with a frown. He’d felt uncomfortable about that clause in the contract, and now it was being emphasized. What the hell was this about? He flipped the card over. There was nothing on the back. Dropping the card on the table, he glanced at the two doors facing each other on either side of him. As he contemplated them, he heard a key turning in the door behind him. He turned, expecting someone to walk in. But no. He heard the faint sound of footsteps and laughter disappearing away down the corridor. “What the fuck?”
He crossed the room and tried the handle. The door that he had come through was now locked, with no sign of a key anywhere inside the reception area. He glared at it. Someone was having a joke at his expense, and he didn’t like it.
He walked over to the door on the left, knocked and entered. It opened onto a sitting room with low-slung leather sofas focused around a marble coffee table. The room also had a wet bar, entertainment center and a selection of faux fur cushions and rugs draped across the chairs and floor. The décor instantly made him think of sex, and that did not lie easily with his current confusion about the set up. He ran a finger inside his collar, which suddenly felt tight and restrictive.
‘At my beck and call...’
That suggestive phrase in the contract and the note kept echoing round his brain, unnerving him. Why the hell had he signed something so out of the ordinary? Because you were too busy thinking about Kelly, that’s why.
“The bedroom,” he murmured to himself. The note had said when you’re ready, come into the bedroom. Shit. Some mad woman wanted him in her bedroom and had him locked in, both physically and contractually. This was a big mistake. Daniel must have misunderstood what the woman was after. He really did not need this hassle now. He had enough of a woman issue to deal with, trying to track Kelly down, without adding some deluded celebrity into the mix.
‘Come into the bedroom...’
She obviously thought...he swallowed. She obviously though she’d hired a man for all her whims, and satisfying her in the bedroom department was a whim he had no intention of fulfilling. “I’ll give Daniel hell.”
Once he explained the mistake and got the hell out of here, his agent was in big trouble. Not to mention Jay. It was his so-called friend who’d got the wrong end of the stick here. But first he had to find the client and explain. He was tempted to call reception—or, better still—just kick the door down and walk out, but he was a professional. This Jennifer woman needed to understand he was a trained security man, a bodyguard and a roadie, not a fuckin' gigolo. The very thought of it made his hackles rise.
Dreading what he might find, he braced himself, stormed back through the reception area and opened the second door without knocking. The room was in darkness apart from the bed area, which was lit by fancy red lamps that seemed to be built into the headboard. They cast what was supposedly a seductive glow over black and red bed coverings. Tommy broke into a cold sweat. It looked like something from a Valentine’s Day card, a heart-shaped bed with some sort of tent-like fabric hanging over it, like a harem. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone in the damn bed. He steeled himself and stepped into the room.
“Look, lady, there’s been some sort of a mistake here.”
He heard the sound of wicked chuckling in the darkness, then the door slammed shut behind him.
“What the fuck?” He went to turn on his heel, but not quickly enough. He was kicked in the back of the knees, buckling him. As he staggered forward, a hand pushed him in the small of the back. He lurched in the direction of the bed, which he cursed at as he collapsed onto it. The air whooshed from his lungs as he hit the surface. Inhaling, he got a face full of satin.
Lifting his head, swaying, he blinked and gathered himself, then someone or something leapt onto his back, snatching at his arms and locking them together at the small of his back. He felt fingers wrapping around his wrists.
Scowling and cursing, Tommy pulled his hands free, clambering up the bed, trying to break loose. The Thing, whatever the hell it was, grunted and leapt, snatched hold of his belt, and hung on. The more he lurched away, the more his belt tightened on his hips and the thing jerked him back. His jeans were half way down his arse and he felt sharp nails biting into his buttocks.
Shit, not only is she a complete maniac, she’s a freakin’ man-eater.
He’d heard stories about stuff like this, about men hired for sex. He’d read about them in those dodgy Sunday newspapers. But Tommy Sampson wasn’t going to be a victim of some demented celebrity, left tied to a bed for some maid to find, no way. Get a grip man, he told himself. She was fast, and she was strong, but she was a woman. He rolled onto his back, flipping them both over, and snatched at her hand where it was locked onto his belt. “Excuse me, but I’m the security person here. I’m supposed to protect you from people like you.”
He gripped her by the wrists and hauled her physically up and onto his chest, pulling her closer into the lamplight to get a look at her.
*
I know, what a place to leave you. Tease, tease. :-)
