A Totally Bound Publication
Beauty and Pain
ISBN # 978-1-78184-984-2
©Copyright Harlem Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination
and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or
places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form,
whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of
the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound
Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil
proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs
and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator
of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road,
Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This
story has a heat rating of Totally Taboo and a Sexometer of 3.
A Bit of Strange
BEAUTY AND PAIN
Harlem Dae
Book one in the A Bit of Strange series
If a beautiful stranger offered pain of the erotic variety, would you be able to resist?
When Isabella catches the eye of a handsome fellow commuter on the daily grind into
London, she can’t help but fantasize about all the dirty things they could do together. The
fact that they are strangers only adds to her seedy desires and wicked wantonness. How
amazing would it be to have such a man bend her to his will and take her to the dizzy
heights of ecstasy she longs to go to?
Fortunately for her, things soon heat up between them and before she knows it, his dominant
layers are revealed and he shows her a way to combine the perfect slice of agony with the
most dazzling of encounters that has her muffling her screams for more, more, more. My
God, it’s just the way she likes it—were they meant to travel this journey together?
Every good thing must end, however, but will there be a second round? Or is Gabriel
nothing more than a ship that crosses her path for a one-time experience? Isabella’s not sure.
She’s in it for the fun, but is he?
Dedication
For Victor Partridge and Zara Watson
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following
wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
VW Beetle: Volkswagen Group
Audi: Audi AG
Cadbury’s: Cadbury Enterprises pte Limited
Boy Scout: The Scout Association
BEAUTY AND PAIN
6
Chapter One
Every morning was the same routine, except for weekends, when I didn’t have to get
up at stupid o’clock to catch a train to work. Monday to Friday saw me wishing I could do
something different—so different that if my colleagues or friends heard about it they’d
possibly think I’d gone insane. I wanted… I wanted a man, plain and simple. A stranger who
wouldn’t see me as a brazen tart if I approached him in public and made it clear that I
wanted to have sex with him. A stranger who’d desperately want to see me again after our
first fuck, beg me to meet him at the same time the next day. Until we were together again I
would become his everything, dominate his thoughts, hold his desires harnessed.
Did such a man exist?
Did I have the courage to go and find out?
Had I already met him without knowing?
These were questions that spun web-like in my mind. But I wanted clarity. I wanted
answers, so today I was going to pay a bit more attention to what I wore and see if that kick-
started my luck.
I needed something alluring, a red skirt a little shorter than I’d usually wear to the
office, a flash of stocking lace visible, perhaps even the suspender clips. A black chemise,
with lace on that, too, just above my breasts, the kind that would make a man wonder if I had
a bra on underneath. I slipped on black stilettos then turned to look at my calves to make
sure my stocking seams were straight.
Perfect.
I secured my hair on my crown in a loose bun with tendrils hanging around my face. I
thought of the coming train journey and how, even though it was winter, the bright sun, as it
streaked through the window, would highlight the blonde. My makeup didn’t take long. I
went for the understated look—a thin covering of foundation, light brown dusting on my
eyelids, one sweep of the mascara brush per set of lashes and a faint tinge of red on my lips.
Downstairs in the kitchen I poured a coffee. With my backside pressing against a
cupboard, I sipped my drink and thought about the scenarios I’d envisaged so many times
Harlem Dae
7
before. Life rarely reflected my fantasies these days, but nevertheless I looked forward to
seeing just what would happen when I approached the man I’d been ogling for the past two
months.
Could he be the man of my sordid dreams?
Oh, he was very different physically from my last lover, Ian, who had been a dab hand
with the tools of the trade, but sadly his roving eye had meant he hadn’t been a keeper.
This bloke, though, I didn’t care if he was a keeper or not. He was a stranger and that
was the way my fantasies had headed of late. A little dangerous maybe, but hey, I could
never be accused of having boring daydreams. They always hung on the edge of extreme—it
was my favorite place to be.
He didn’t wear a wedding ring, this new man, but that didn’t mean anything these
days, did it? He traveled alone, boarding and getting off at the same places I did every
morning. He’d glanced at me a few times, but if I’d ever caught him staring it hadn’t
appeared to bother him. He’d stared harder, if anything, until I’d been the one to look away.
Today I wouldn’t.
I glanced at the time, startled to see it was bordering on seven thirty. I tipped my
remaining coffee into the sink, shrugged on my long black winter coat, slung the handle of
my bag over my shoulder then left the house.
October was a strange month, all frost with a mean bite, the wind sometimes so fierce it
stung my face. Thankfully the pavements weren’t slippery this morning, so my choice of
shoes hadn’t been a bad idea. I got into my car, a trusty red VW Beetle I’d had for years, and
peeled away from the curb, destination the train station. On the way there, I entertained
myself with thoughts of the man and how he was in for the surprise of his life today—
providing he was single and everything went to plan. Perhaps he was driving to the station,
too, an Audi or a convertible of some sort his vehicle of choice. Black, yes, it would be black,
new, to match his crisp suits, and he’d drive like the wind so he didn’t miss the train.
So he didn’t miss seeing me.
That was a nice thought, him feeling the same about me as I did about him. He’d given
no indication that he wanted to fuck me, his glances more along the lines of eyeing the goods
but maybe not wanting to eat them. But, God, how I wanted him to eat me.
BEAUTY AND PAIN
8
I pulled into the station car park and got out to surreptitiously look around for black
Audis and convertibles. There weren’t any, of course there weren’t, but it was fun all the
same. After making sure my parking permit was showing on the dashboard, I secured my
car and walked toward the payment windows. There were small queues, perhaps three or
four people in each, and I tagged onto the end of one and stared around some more.
He wasn’t in any of them.
A swift gust of wind slapped one side of my head, sending loose strands of my hair
whipping across my face. I reached up to shift them, momentarily blinded as I fought to tuck
them behind my ear.
“Here, let me do that?” a man asked.
I turned to find him standing behind me. All six feet of him towered there, and he
looked down with a quirk to his lips and his dark eyebrows raised in question. I blinked to
cover my shock, making sure I didn’t let my mouth hang open. I struggled to find anything
remotely sexy to say—after all, hadn’t his offer been a sexy one? Intimate? People didn’t ask
if they could touch your hair if they didn’t know you, did they?
But he does know me. Sort of.
My stomach churned with the kind of excitement all my dreams coming true at once
brought. I swallowed, hoping the nerves I suddenly felt weren’t displayed on my face.
He was so bloody beautiful. Eyes darker than the most taboo sin, the stubble on his chin
just as dark. His lips were a color between red and pink, not scarlet or rose or anything I
could put a name to. He appeared to have broken his nose at some point, although it wasn’t
so skewed as to make it obvious, and with a rigid jaw and a look to him that spoke of a man
who could stand up for himself if he had the need, I thought he might be a boxer.
“Or would that be considered too forward?” he asked. “You know, me taking that
hair…” He held up one hand, finger and thumb poised as though he itched to sweep the hair
away.
“No, no,” I managed. “You can take it if you want.”
Take it in your hand and wrap it around your fist, tug it hard, make my head do what I’ve
fantasized it would do.
He reached out and brushed my face free of stray strands with his fingertips, his skin
dusting over mine and sending my knees weak.
Harlem Dae
9
“That’s better, I can see you now,” he said, hand lingering mid-air.
His voice was one that could send a girl insane with want, need, and every other sexual
emotion all at once. Like the darkness of his eyes, it reeled me in, coaxing me to respond.
“Thank you,” I said, annoyed that nothing else had come out. I wanted to say so many
things, had rehearsed them time and time again until I knew every scenario off by heart. But
this scenario—no, I hadn’t dreamt of this one.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said, lowering his hand back to his
side. “You know, touch you in some way. But you don’t do that kind of thing, do you? At
least I don’t.”
“But you just did,” I said, sounding out of breath. And I was. It was proving difficult to
draw air in.
“I did, and I don’t regret it.”
“Neither do I.”
Someone coughed. “Next!”
I swiveled to see the ticket line had diminished and a large gap yawned between me
and the payment window. I wished I could say ‘fuck the damn ticket, I’m just talking to this
man here’, but I dutifully approached the window and apologized. I paid, received my stub
then turned to find the man had gone. I glanced about, hoping to spot him in another queue,
but he wasn’t in any of them. Deflated, yet eager to seek him out again, I rushed to the
platform around the corner of the ticket kiosk and looked from left to right.
There he was, sitting in his usual place on a red metal seat, all long limbed and broad
shouldered, his legs sticking out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He seemed at ease as
he held a newspaper and read it, although I liked to think that he wasn’t taking any of the
words in. That he was thinking about me instead.
Usually I remained standing on the platform, wanting to beat the mad dash when the
train arrived and avoid being crushed. To get my pick of seating near a window so I could
gaze out and daydream. Today, though, today was going to be different.
I walked toward his bench. A gust of wind sallied along, whistling through a wire mesh
refuse bin, jostling its contents before attacking his newspaper. He battled to keep it from
crumpling or being blown out of his hands and must have decided he was going to lose the
BEAUTY AND PAIN
10
fight. He folded it as best he could then tucked it beneath one arm. I imagined him thinking
that he’d read it when he was settled on the train.
I had plans to distract him from reading.
I sat beside him then hooked one leg over the other, letting my coat fall open so he
could get a good eyeful of my exposed thigh, knee and shin. A sneaky look down confirmed
that the lace of my stocking top could be seen if only he’d lean across a bit and take a peek. I
placed my hands in my lap, entwining my fingers, and studied him.
He was staring at me—not at my legs as I’d hoped, but my face.
“Well, hello again,” he said. “I thought you’d have been standing over there like you
always do.”
“Why would I, now that I have someone to talk to?”
That had been the best I could come out with at this point. My lungs were tight, as
though being this close to him had rendered them useless, and I willed myself to breathe
normally, to appear a woman in control of her emotions. And perhaps I did appear that way.
He wasn’t to know that my heart was hammering wildly and my mouth had gone dry, that
I’d never done anything like this before in my life and hadn’t ever thought I would. But there
I was, sitting as close to him as I dared, our thighs almost touching, the tops of our arms an
inch or so apart. If I tilted my head I could rest my cheek there, feel the softness of his suit. It
would be cold, what with the weather, but would soon warm up.
“Fair point,” he said. “So, I’m going to be forward again. Is there any reason why you’re
dressed so…differently today?”
I didn’t answer on purpose. I was too busy gazing into his eyes and waiting to hear
what he’d say next.
“You’re usually in trouser suits, aren’t you, or at least a longer skirt,” he said.
So he had been watching me, then.
“Today,” I said, “I wanted to put something on that made me feel sexy.” I could hardly
believe I’d repeated one of the lines out of my fantasies, but I had and it hadn’t been so bad at
all. I decided to push on. “You know, to see if it would make you take notice.” I’d laid my
interest in him bare and could only hope he didn’t think me too shameless, too bold.
“I’d notice you whatever you had on.”
Harlem Dae
11
If someone else had said that I might have thought it was a standard pick-up line,
designed to make me fall at his feet. I’d already fallen a long time ago, but those words, as
they’d spilled from his lips, had sounded…right. Sincere.
“Oh really?” I asked, surprised.
“Really. There’s something about you. You stand out from everyone else. As though
you think things that would shock.” He paused and smiled. “Did you know that when
you’re on the train and you’re looking out of the window, you bite your bottom lip
sometimes? I’ve often wondered what makes you do that, what you’re thinking, and I always
come up with something risqué.”
Now that wasn’t a word I expected a man to use, but then he did have a refined air
about him, as though he might well have swallowed a dictionary between rounds in the ring,
and when speaking he dipped into the vast well of vocabulary and selected ones that stood
out.
“Risqué,” I said, loving the way it had rolled off my tongue. “Perhaps I do think things
like that.”
“Do you?” He lifted his eyebrows then cocked his head, urging me to go on.
“I do.”
“Ah, I thought so. And would you care to share those things with a fellow traveler? It’ll
give me something to think about other than my own risqué thoughts.”
“You’ve never given me the impression you think naughty things,” I said, a little
shocked at his revelation but trying to hide it.
“You’d be surprised. Even more surprised if I admitted they were all about you.”
Again, I could have thought he was stringing me along, saying things that he thought I
wanted to hear, but he stared at me with such a genuinely serious expression that I could do
nothing but believe he’d meant everything he’d said.
I mulled over what he’d asked. “I could share them,” I said, offering him what I hoped
was a sexy smile. “But I’d much rather show you.”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
12
Chapter Two
The train chose that moment to rudely interrupt us, bringing with it a different kind of
wind that smelled of oil and machinery. It shot into the station then came to a laborious halt,
as if it hadn’t wanted to stop at all. Commuters surged forward, briefcases and handbags
getting knocked here, there and everywhere, toes stepped on and arms getting squashed. I
rose at the same time as the man and as though we’d prearranged it, we waited for the crowd
to disperse before we stepped forward.
As usual, none of the cabins I could see were empty—rush hour was a bitch and
messing with my needs—and I resigned myself to accepting that I might not get my fuck on
a train after all. Still, it would be nice to sit with him, get to know him a bit, and continue
with our saucy conversation. It would beat staring out of the window as the scenery
whooshed by any day.
We boarded, my thigh brushing his, and while I glanced about for signs of two empty
seats, I fought to hold back the blush our slight connection had produced. He walked down
the aisle, looking back briefly to see if I followed, then moved on again. He paused to let a
woman stow her bag in a hanging rack above her seat, and I bumped into him. My breasts
were squashed on his back, my pelvis just below the tight swell of his arse, and I stayed there
for a second or two, reveling in the warmth of his body heat, the intimacy.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, not sorry at all.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t be. I rather like it.”
Sadly, the woman finished blocking the aisle and we were able to pass. I strained my
neck to see ahead, noting there were several empty seats but none of them together.
Disappointment had a good go at dampening my excitement, but I brightened up by
consoling myself that we could sit on those two seats just there, the ones either side of the
aisle.
He stopped walking and turned to me, clearly having the same idea. “Will these do?”
Lifting one hand, he gestured to the seats in turn.
Harlem Dae
13
I nodded, taking the one on the right. He sat, smiled at a young man beside him, who
had earbuds in and bobbed his head to music I could faintly hear, then diverted his attention
to me.
“It’s hardly going to afford us much privacy, but needs must,” he said. “The person
sitting beside you has earphones in too.”
I planted my elbow on the armrest then leaned across a bit, toward him. “I’ll take your
word for it. And I suppose we could talk in code.”
A man bustled past, his bulging bag just missing my face, catching his foot in the
dangling front side of my coat and almost toppling over. He chuckled self-consciously,
muttered a quick sorry, then went on his way.
He’d done me a favor. My legs were exposed again.
“So, what do I call you?” I asked. “Are our identities to remain secret, or shall we be
honest?”
He smiled and lifted one hand to rest a finger beneath his chin. “Honesty has served us
well so far, don’t you think?”
It had, and I smiled to show I agreed. “So your name is?”
“Gabriel. And yours is?”
“Isabella.”
“Very nice. Has a sexy ring to it.”
I hadn’t thought of my name as being sexy, but if he thought so, I’d take that. I’d take
anything he cared to give me—particularly if it had the kind of bent I was after. But not
everyone was into what I was. I’d have to do some gentle probing to see if he was.
I laughed. “Oh, I don’t know, there are far more sexy things than the name Isabella.”
“Like what? Tell me.”
“I could, but you may not want to speak to me again. What I find sexy might not be
your cup of tea.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
The train interrupted us again, beginning its slow glide out of the station. At this point I
usually stared through the window and watched as the bridge above the train seemed to be
peeled away, like a large, unseen hand was lifting it from a model railway to relocate it
elsewhere. Then the daylight appeared, the sky spotted with gray-bellied clouds and a few
BEAUTY AND PAIN
14
crows coasting the airwaves. A metal stairway to the right on the opposite platform, the top
of which reached a glass-enclosed bridge that joined one side to the other, came next. After
that, nearly naked trees, abundant evergreen bushes, then some outskirt houses gave way to
countryside.
But this morning I didn’t see any of that. All I saw was Gabriel smiling at me, the
sparkle of anticipation in his eyes. It was as though he was testing me, pushing to see if I had
the courage to tell him what I thought was sexy. He had confidence, quite a bit of it from
what I could gather, although it didn’t come across as arrogance. At a guess I’d say he knew
what he wanted but with me he’d bided his time, made sure I was interested. A bit like I’d
been with him. And he’d already said he didn’t usually touch someone he didn’t know.
So why had I been different?
I repeated what he’d said. “There’s only one way to find out, yes.”
I glanced at the woman beside me then the man beside him. Both were busy looking out
of the window, the woman’s tinny music just about audible over the hum of the train.
Safe that I wouldn’t be overheard by those sitting in front and behind us, I said quietly,
“What do you think of whips?”
He sat up straighter, my question obviously startling him, and moved the finger
beneath his chin up to partially cover his mouth. He appeared to be thinking, furrowing his
brow and looking down at the aisle floor.
“It depends. In what context?” he asked.
“To use while having sex,” I said quietly but firmly.
“I see.” He looked back up then slid his eyes from side to side before resting his gaze on
me. “I enjoy them.”
Now I was surprised. I hadn’t taken him for the sort who liked a bit of kink, even
though I’d hoped he was. “And floggers? Same answer?”
He nodded. “Yes, although I prefer the cat.”
So he knew exactly what he was talking about, then. This was better than I’d ever dared
hope.
“It’s my favorite too.” I leaned across a bit more and whispered, “So many strands
hitting all at once. It’s like a large, hot hand with a million fingers.”
Harlem Dae
15
He smiled again, his eyes glazing as if he were remembering a time when he’d felt the
lash or had administered it. He shook his head slightly then refocused on me. “Had we
managed to find a place on here to…get to know one another better, there wouldn’t be
enough room to use any of those things.”
A bubble of excitement popped inside me that he’d been thinking along the same lines
as me—fucking on a speeding train. “No. Shame, that.”
“It is. I doubt there’s anywhere on here where we could be alone at all.”
“Hmm.”
I cast my mind back to when I’d been late for work a few weeks ago. I’d forgone
breakfast and nipped to the buffet carriage to grab a muesli bar and a drink. Whilst paying
I’d noticed there was a storeroom, tagged onto the back of the carriage, with its door wide
open for anyone to just wander into and, so I’d thought, help themselves to any number of
sugary snacks.
“The toilet is far too small,” I said. “But there is one option.”
“Go on.” A spark of interest lit his dark eyes and his brow creased.
“No, come on. This way.” I stood. “I’ll show you.”
My coat swept behind me as I made my way down the aisle and gripped the odd
headrest for balance. I didn’t bother to turn and check whether Gabriel was following me. I
knew damn well he would be.
My strides were so long, so doggedly determined, that my stocking tops were on show
with each step, my skirt having ridden up and the flap of my coat flicking at my knees.
A couple of old codgers and a prim-looking woman stared, but only for the seconds it
took me to reach the automatic door to the next carriage.
It slid open with a swoosh, and I could tell by the amount of time it took to close again
that he was right behind me. I would have loved to sneak a glance at his face, see if he held
his chin high and his lips tight. Were arousal, excitement and anticipation written plainly on
his handsome features, or did he simply look like he was following a stranger on his way to
grab a cup of tea and a bacon butty?
The buffet carriage was empty of customers, as was usually the case at this point of the
route. The train had journeyed from much farther west and it was the early commuters who
BEAUTY AND PAIN
16
purchased their first meal of the day onboard—not so much us, with only half an hour to go
into central London.
A member of staff had his back to us, refilling a coffee machine with water, and I went
onto my toes slightly so that my heels didn’t tap and alert him to my presence. Though it
wouldn’t have mattered, the ever-present clack-clack, clack-clack of the rails provided an
appreciated cover noise.
I spotted the same door I’d seen previously.
Damn, it was shut.
I could only send a quick prayer heavenwards that it wasn’t locked. That would really
scupper my plans if it was.
The member of staff was out of view now, hidden by a thin wall that gave him privacy
to sit down, wash dishes, prepare sandwiches—I didn’t know and it wasn’t any of my
concern.
I reached the handle and turned to Gabriel. He was close behind me. There was a little
color on his cheeks. He tugged at his bottom lip, not the center, but to the right a bit, and as
he did so he appeared to hold in a naughty smile, like a kid about to fire a catapult or cherry
knock a neighbor’s front door.
I pushed down the handle, heart hammering, pussy clenching.
Was I really doing this?
Fuck, yes, I was. The door was unlocked.
I slipped in. My stranger followed.
He shut the door quickly behind us. I heard the click of a lock.
“How very convenient,” he said. “A private, secure place for you to tell me a little more
about your penchant for pain.”
Just tell, not show? My stomach dropped a little. I’d been hoping for so much more than
talk.
“Turn around,” he said, gently facing me away from him by maneuvering my
shoulders.
I glanced at the small space. It wasn’t much bigger than if we had resorted to one of the
toilets. But it smelled a whole lot better—chocolate, sugar and the lingering scent of coffee.
There were two high windows letting in the watery autumn light, which filtered over the
Harlem Dae
17
shelving units and a flat space covered in what appeared to be stock charts and Health and
Safety notices.
Gabriel’s body heat left me. The sense of loss was acute, but then I saw him hang his
suit jacket up and hook it onto a peg holding several catering aprons.
“Here,” he said, touching my collar. “Let me. I have a feeling it’s going to get hot in
here.”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
18
Chapter Three
Oh, please, Lord, if it was going to get hot in here, let it boil!
He whispered his fingers around my neck, sending a shower of delicious sensations
scattering over my scalp and along my spine. He tugged at my coat, pulling it gently off my
shoulders then down my arms.
He hung it next to his.
“Isabella,” he said against my ear, his hands once again on my shoulders and his fingers
stroking the ends of my hair. “We need to establish one thing, right here, right now.”
I nodded.
We did.
“Tell me,” he said, “are you a giver or receiver?” He pressed his lips harder over my
ear, his warm breath soaking into my skin, seeping to my breasts and making my nipples
tighten.
Fuck, if just his breath can do that…
“You have no idea,” he said softly, “how badly I want you to be the opposite to what I
am. No fucking idea at all.” He sounded in pain, like his want was almost too much to bear.
I pressed my arse backwards and the top rise brushed his groin. A seriously solid
wedge of flesh drove into me.
“Oh, I think I have a fair idea,” I said, thrilled at the thought of having given him an
erection so soon into our encounter—and a damn fine hard-on at that.
He let out a soft moan and seemed to push into me just a little. “Answer the question,
Isabella. Now.”
“I’m a…”
“Spit it out.”
“No, I’m a swallower.”
He kind of growled, snapped his arms around my waist and chest, then dragged me
into his body. My back hit his chest and my arse got full-on connection with his cock through
his trousers.
Harlem Dae
19
“You are only making it worse for yourself,” he snarled.
“Or better.”
He stilled.
So did I.
Now we both knew my answer. I was a receiver. There were no two ways about it. I
loved pain with my pleasure—the deep muscle sort of ache and the sharp sting. It all pressed
my buttons. It all got me off.
“Isabella,” he whispered, nuzzling into my neck. “I just knew we were compatible. That
you were a masochist, a sub—”
“I’m no one’s sub.” I curled my fingers over his forearms, wished we were naked and
not in office clothes. “I just enjoy a good whipping—or a thrashing—as I come.”
He chucked, his rising and falling chest shifting me in his arms. “Okay, if that’s how
you want to play, that’s cool with me.”
“Play? Like you said, no room for anything in here, and I don’t think banging a bar of
Cadbury’s on my arse is going to cut it for me.”
“I was a Boy Scout, you know.” Suddenly he turned me within his arms and stooped so
our noses were touching.
“Pardon?” I pressed my palms against his crisp white shirt.
“A Boy Scout. Do you know what their motto is?”
“Er, dib, dab, dob?” I gave a mock salute.
He tutted. “No, it’s ‘Always be prepared’.”
As he’d spoken the last word he’d caught my mouth with his and set up a delicious
dance with his tongue as he searched for mine.
I clung to him, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being desired, owned, swamped by a
big, strong man.
Gabriel knew how to fire up a woman’s engines and within minutes I was panting. He
had inquisitive fingers, too, exploring beneath my thin blouse, up to my breasts then
brushing my nipples through my bra.
“Please,” I said, pulling back. “I want…”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
20
What did I want? A quick, no-strings vanilla fuck with a stranger? An arrangement to
meet some other time with a bag of toys to play with? Or perhaps just this, a swift kiss and a
grope, then return to our seats and hope no one noticed our flushed faces?
“I know exactly what you want,” he said. “If you can bring yourself to trust me, just for
a few minutes.”
Suddenly the light went. His face disappeared even though he was inches from me. The
clack-clack, clack-clack seemed to intensify.
We were in a tunnel.
As quickly as it had gone dark in our tiny world, the light shot back in.
I was still gripping him.
Yes, I did trust him. For some reason I did. Oh, I wasn’t about to let him tie me up and
gag me, but in here, a bit of fun? Yes.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked.
He unwound himself from me then reached for his jacket. “This,” he said, “requires
very little room and is the perfect portable plaything.”
From the inside lining, by the breast pocket, he pulled out a long, thin piece of what
appeared to be metal, just over ten inches I would guess. It had a neat black handle on one
end and reminded me of a super-thin knitting needle.
I folded my arms. It looked pretty innocent and my brief bubble of excitement at the
mention of a plaything popped. How could that give any kind of deep stimulation?
He held it up, and with a cocky twist of his mouth showed me just how bendy it was—
it could almost flex to ninety degrees.
“Unbreakable,” he said. “And easy to carry around in the lining of a jacket.”
“What is it?” I asked, feeling considerably more intrigued now that I’d seen its supple
qualities.
“It’s a misery stick, although I think that gives the little blighter a bad reputation,
because actually it can give immense pleasure.”
Misery stick? Okay, add nervous onto intrigue. Toys in our world didn’t get names like
that for nothing.
“You really haven’t seen one before?” he asked, licking his lips and letting his gaze
drop down my body.
Harlem Dae
21
I felt like he was undressing me with his eyes and already flicking that stick all over my
lily-white flesh, streaking me with the red lines it would no doubt leave—if indeed that was
what he planned on doing with it.
“Yes, it does mark. Quite heavily if a Dom isn’t careful.”
It was as though he’d read my thoughts.
“So what do you say, Isabella?”
I swallowed. My panties were getting damp. The need for an orgasm, an orgasm and
pain, was like a sudden need to breathe when swimming under water. It was becoming the
only thing I could focus on.
“I say yes,” I said, quickly unzipping my skirt at the side and letting it fall to the floor.
“Excellent decision,” he said, flaring his nostrils slightly and gritting his teeth.
“Excellent decision and excellent choice of flesh for me to play with too.”
“Just play with?”
“Our type of play.” He narrowed his eyes. “This will hurt, you know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“It will become your worst enemy and then your best friend.”
I shoved at my knickers, unbashful about the dot of cream on the gusset and my damp
pubic curls. “I’m all about extremes,” I said, kicking them aside.
He shoved his hand down his suit trousers, seeming to adjust himself. “Jesus Christ,
you’re really hot, you know.”
“Wanna feel?” I parted my legs, set my hands on my hips.
He stepped up to me, eyes flashing. “Face the wall.”
I did as he’d asked, flattening my palms over a list of chocolate bars stocked and a
notice about Christmas holidays.
“Ah, fuck.”
I jerked as he went straight for gold, delving his fingers between my cunt lips and
slipping right up inside me.
“So damn wet. You really are a pain whore, aren’t you? Just the thought of it has nearly
got you coming.”
“Yes, yes, I want it, but please. I want to come, too. At the same time as getting the pain.
It’s what I need.”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
22
“Oh, I have got myself a greedy girl, haven’t I?” He hooked his fingers forward, stroked
over the needy pressure point on the front wall of my pussy.
“Ah, yeah, oh, that’s it, work me up a bit.”
He bit my ear—quite hard.
I gasped and tried to shift my head away but couldn’t move anywhere.
“You are a terrible submissive. Stop ordering me about.”
“I told you, I’m not a sub.” I paused, shunted my hips backwards so that I took more of
his long, strong fingers. “I just like pain. It gets right to my core, makes me feel real.”
“But perhaps I want a sub to dish out pain to.”
“Do you?” Why was he complicating things? It was just getting good.
“Yes. When I’m in a scene I insist on being called Sir. Can you do that?”
“Yes, anything… Sir.” Sure I could do that. What did a word mean, after all?
He kissed the sore spot on my ear. “If you hate anything I do, say London, okay, and it
will stop, instantly.”
“London. Yes. Okay.”
He worked me a little more. I could hear the juicy noises of my arousal over the sound
of the train. I groaned too, wanting to reach that point where pain would mix so sweetly with
the precipice of bliss. I could dance there for hours if I was with the right kind of sadist. One
who knew exactly how to play my instrument, sing to my tune.
It had been so long.
“I think you’re ready,” he said. “Ready for the gift that keeps on giving.”
He withdrew.
I moaned a complaint. Shut my eyes and waited for the hit.
The anticipation of it, being unable to discern the whereabouts on my buttocks the new
toy would strike, was the most rewarding torment imaginable. Not only that—the not
knowing how it would feel was honeyed torture.
I grunted as a long, thin slice of pain hit my right buttock, on the roundest part of the
globe. It was a sting, no more than an elastic band, and I couldn’t deny that disappointment
blackened my arousal.
But only for a second.
Harlem Dae
23
His fingers were back inside me, his clever thumb just stroking my anus, and the
sting… Jesus… The sting had rushed into something else. Now it screamed through my
entire arse, wrapping up my muscles in agonizing want. Instead of fading it grew, blooming,
turning into a blistering heat. So that’s what he’d meant by the gift that keeps on giving.
“You didn’t expect that, now, did you?” he said then kissed my neck.
“Ah, fuck, no, bloody hell.” I clenched my fists on the wall. Writhed against him. “It’s
getting worse…not fading.”
He chuckled. “Vicious little thing, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “More.”
Again he pulled his fingers out.
I reached down, found my clit and pressed it hard, clenched my cunt around nothing.
Oh, where would he treat me this time?
“Ah, fuck.” I squeezed my buttocks together as a whole body tremble attacked me.
He’d gone for symmetry. My left buttock had taken the full force of the misery stick, the
sting harder than the last twang, which meant the blistering poison in my nerves would be
even greater.
“You can come whenever you want, sub,” he said.
“Not your…sub… Sir.”
“Oh, I think you will be.”
Arrogant bastard.
I shoved my fingers into my pussy. The heel of my hand caught my clit, and I went for
it hard and fast, determined to find an orgasm while pain still blurred my vision.
He flicked me again.
I cried out. He must have bent the stick farther back from my flesh each time he’d
released it because the pain was building, increasing, each slice much more efficient at
releasing endorphins.
“Ah, ah, ah…” I panted, heading to the glorious height of my pleasure. “Yes, one more,
please.” That was all I needed, one more fantastic bout of pain.
He gave it, and in a knee-buckling, spine-crumbling moment of suspension I burst
through my orgasm. I carried on fucking myself wetly with my fingers, bashing into my clit
with near violence and struggling to breathe.
BEAUTY AND PAIN
24
I dropped forwards. My face hit the wall hard, my cheek banging against then resting
on the smooth, cool surface of a drawing pin.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me up. I was grateful for the support
as I came down from my high. My insides spasmed—my guts clenched tight, my ears rang,
and the clack-clack, clack-clack had become so distant.
“You sound beautiful when you orgasm,” he whispered. “So fucking beautiful.”
“It felt beautiful,” I gasped.
“It makes me very happy to hear that.”
I pulled in a deep breath. The air was laced with my sex smell as well as his subtle
aftershave.
I turned around, placed my sizzling arse cheeks on the cool wall and looked up at him.
I knew my hair would be a mess, my mascara no doubt smeared by the dampness I could
feel around my eyes—unnoticed tears—and my lips red, not from lipstick but from where I’d
just bitten into them.
He placed the misery stick on the nearest shelf. “You look”—he smoothed my hair from
my face—“well and truly fucked.”
I giggled, a gush of noise that spilled out of me. I was high, ecstatic, running on
overdrive. “Good, that’s my preferred look for the office.”
A muscle twitched in his cheek and he pressed his lips together. I suddenly realized
how selfish I was being.
I stretched up, cupped his clean-shaven cheek and spoke into his ear. “Fuck me, Sir.”
His body tensed. He swallowed. “Is it what you want?”
“Yes, and I know damn well it’s what you want.” I brushed my hand over his groin,
stroking his long, hard erection through his clothing.
“I can’t deny that.”
“So do it.” I released his belt buckle, unbuttoned and unzipped him. “You got a
condom?”
He already had his wallet in his hand and was pulling out a small blue foil package.
I grinned, anticipating the feel of his solid shaft plunging deep into my pussy. He was
well endowed, but I was so wet and ready for cock it would be an absolute treat to
accommodate him.
Harlem Dae
25
After releasing his dick from his boxers, I made a show of exploring its length, of
tracing the veins and smoothing beneath the groove of his circumcised glans. The movement
of the train shifted our bodies slightly, rhythmic sways, but that didn’t disturb my adoration
of his erection.
“Ah, yeah,” he groaned. “I love your little sub hands on me.”
He tipped his head back, groaned, and I decided to let that sub mention pass.
But I wasn’t his sub.
I gave a couple more languid push-pulls then took the condom and rolled it down his
length.
He opened his eyes, watched me, his mouth slack and his eyes wide. He was so hard, so
turned on, I really didn’t think he’d last long. But that was okay, I was still buzzing—it
wouldn’t take much to tip me over the edge again.
“You’re ready,” I said. “To fuck me… Sir.”
He sucked in a breath. Oh, yeah, that Sir word seriously got him off.
Suddenly I was a foot higher. In a flash he’d slid me up the wall, spread my legs around
his hips and had his hands on my sore arse.
“Get ready for it,” he said then claimed my mouth.
A second later he nearly split me in two by shunting his cock into my pussy.
I cried out in delight—the sound mixing with his long, low moan—and clung onto his
shoulders.
“You feel so hot, so burning hot, in your cunt and on your arse,” he said onto my lips.
“Fuck, I’m not going to last long. It feels fucking fantastic to have you on fire in and around
me, on me… Oh, yeah…”
“Me either, Sir.” And I wasn’t going to last long—it was there, building up. “God, I
want it so much again.”
He squeezed my bum, shooting pain through my pelvis. But I was an expert at
harnessing discomfort and delivered it straight to my clit at exactly the same time that he
ground into me, trapping my body between him and the wall.
My head lolled. I was being transported there again. I was one lucky girl.
BEAUTY AND PAIN
26
His movements were frantic. I could feel his buttocks pistoning, the muscles taut and
powerful. There was nothing slow and gentle about this fuck. It was all about the finish line.
Getting the crazy need out of our systems as fast as possible.
“Jesus, it’s here…” He groaned and dug his fingers into my sore welts.
“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” I cried, spinning into free fall as he pumped his cum inside the
condom.
My pussy hugged and released his pulsing cock, my body claimed every bit of bliss it
could, and I willed him to keep pinching my arse until the orgasm had faded.
He stilled. But not his hands—he kept on abusing my tormented skin. It was perfection.
He was a skilled master, that was for sure. The lingering, ongoing abuse eked out my orgasm
until I wasn’t sure it would ever end.
I groaned, moaned, flexed and unflexed my fingers, curled my toes in my high-heeled
shoes. My pussy didn’t want to let him go, my clit was still bobbing, shooting out darts of
extreme pleasure that rattled up my spine and settled in my chest.
“That’s it, take what you need,” he panted against my cheek. “Take it all, I have plenty
more where that came from.”
Harlem Dae
27
Chapter Four
Plenty more where that came from? Oh, God, he was up for doing it again? Could my
fantasy get any better? I thought of the other scenarios I’d entertained in my head and knew
that yes, it could get better.
“I’ll take whatever you want to give me, Sir,” I said, out of breath and hotter than I’d
thought I was going to get when I’d woken up this morning.
“Well, now, there’s a challenge if ever I heard one.”
He gave me a smile that melted my insides. I was ready to go yet again. Multiple
orgasms would rule the day every time I was with him, I knew that. There was something
about him that set me off, tripped all my switches and created total blackout, where nothing
existed except him and me, what we were doing and the feelings I got from it.
Could I handle such a sexy man? One that was so on my level?
Fuck, yes.
He licked my earlobe. Gave my arse an extra hard squeeze. Sharp stabs of pain radiated
through the flesh, zooming in on my clit again. My internal muscles clenched.
“And it seems your cunt wants more—that you want more…”
“Yes, I do, Sir. When do you propose to give me more?”
He licked down my neck then said, “We don’t usually get the same train back, but if we
made it so we did, I assume you’d be ready for me on the way home? In here, against the
wall?”
“I want something different,” I said. “I get bored easily.” I paused to make him wonder
what I was thinking. Waited for him to fill the void.
“So you like variety,” he said. “I’m very pleased about that. It seems we’re well
matched. Me a Dom, you a sub.”
“I’m not a sub and never will be. I only called you Sir because you said you prefer it
that way.” I bristled, disliking being plonked in a category that I didn’t think I belonged in.
BEAUTY AND PAIN
28
“In denial?” he asked, easing out of my pussy then lowering me to the floor. He put his
hands on my shoulders and massaged, arcing his thumbs back and forth over the sides of my
neck.
“No, I’m just not sub material, that’s all.” My legs were wobbly, as though what we’d
done had sucked all the stability out of them. As though his little stick had been the catalyst
in draining me of energy. How the hell was I going to get through my work day?
By thinking about him, that’s how. By relishing the pain on my arse every time I walk around,
remembering how it got to be so sore.
“I beg to differ,” he said.
I stepped to the left then turned my back on him to give him some privacy in sorting
out the condom. I heard the sound of his zip and waited a few seconds before swiveling to
face him again. I put my knickers and skirt on.
“You can beg to differ all you want.” I smoothed my palms over my clothes,
straightening them out. “But I know exactly who I am—and I am not a sub.”
He held up his hands as though admitting defeat. I could almost hear the words “We’ll
see!” as they floated through his mind. He wore his emotions on his face—and as a Dom he
might do better if he learnt to mask them. A sub could easily take advantage of him if they
wanted to.
Suddenly, I didn’t want a sub doing that to him. Oh, I didn’t care about him, didn’t love
him or anything like that, but I imagined that could come in time. If we both wanted it. I just
didn’t want to see him topped from the bottom without realizing it.
“So,” I said, deciding to change the subject before he insisted again that I was someone I
wasn’t, “you may want to have a little nap once you get home because our next encounter is
at three a.m.”
He widened his eyes, scraping one hand down the side of his cheek. Was he fighting
the urge to tell me not to give him orders?
“What?” he asked. “Why so late—or early, depending which way you want to look at
it?”
“I’ve got this little scenario I’d like to try out.” I hoped he’d be up for it, that I’d see him,
that he wasn’t just stringing me along in saying he was interested in fucking me again. I had
Harlem Dae
29
a serious crush on him—him and that wicked stick—and I couldn’t wait to have more of it, of
him. Of everything he had to offer.
“And what’s that?” He moved the two steps toward me. Crushed me to his chest.
“Fuck, you’re such a dainty thing. I wouldn’t have guessed you could take it on the arse like
you did. Being as it was your first time and all.”
“Like I said, I’ll take whatever you want to give me. And tonight you’re going to give
me something in the deserted storeroom of a supermarket.”
“Pardon?”
He appeared so shocked I nearly laughed.
“That’s right. My daydreams involve many, many things. Me in ordinary situations,
getting fucked and spanked and whipped and smacked and…lots of delicious things—things
you need to think about if we’re going to make this a regular meet-up. Is that what you
want?”
“Fuck, yes. I want to do so many dirty, kinky, debase things to you. Have done for quite
a while. Like I told you, I’ve been thinking about you for a long time.”
I nodded, lifting one hand to brush a fingertip over his bottom lip. “I never would have
known, to look at you—and believe me, I must have looked at you over a thousand times—
that you’d change from the man you were when you offered to brush my hair from my face
to…to who you just were. A no-holds-barred Dominant.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. I love it.” And I had, did. He was right up my street, and hopefully, if he wanted
to fuck me a third time, he’d be just that. Up my alley, too—in more ways than one.
“So, let’s get the rules straight before we go further.” He dashed his tongue out to lick
the end of my finger.
A shiver went through me, and I imagined what that tongue would feel like if he
slicked it up and down my slit. It would be hot, and he’d flatten it so my folds opened up
and everything was there for him to take.
Heat threatened to fill my face and combined with his close proximity, I might have to
step away very soon. To get air—he’d stolen all of mine, leaving me breathless just by staring
down at me with those mesmerizing eyes of his.
“Tell me, who does what?” he asked. “What roles will we be playing?”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
30
“Yes, what roles?” I said, struggling to keep my mind off thoughts of him hurting my
arse again. Those questing fingers digging into my flesh and making me squirm, bringing on
a fresh round of pain, a new edge to the burn. “You’ll bring the toy—I don’t want to know
what it is beforehand. Surprise me. If it’s anything like you just used, you’ll be onto a winner.
I choose the locations and, as I told you, tonight is in a supermarket. They’re empty at three
in the morning, only shelf stackers and a couple of people on the tills. The security guard on
the door. And that’s it. No one to interrupt us in the storeroom. I want you to fuck me in one
of those metal cages they use to push the boxes around in. Do you know the kind I mean?”
He blew out a breath and nodded. “Yes. Which supermarket?”
“The one on Bridgewater. Know it?”
“I do. Go on, tell me more.”
“We’ll arrive as though we don’t know one another. Enter the shop separately. We’ll do
a little role play—you know, single people browsing with our baskets, then oh, we just
happen to catch one another’s attention at, say, the fruit aisle. All those bananas,
cucumbers… Cock-like, aren’t they?”
“Jesus Christ…”
“You’ll be willing to take that nap after you get home then and meet me at three?” I
smiled, knowing I’d got him, that he’d be meeting me all right.
“More than willing.”
I glanced at my watch, sad to see our intimate encounter would have to come to an end.
“We really ought to get going.”
He grinned. “I thought we’d already done that.”
I returned his smile, moving my finger from his lips to trail it down to the collar of his
shirt then swirl it over the knot of his tie—a tie I’d very much like binding my wrists while he
wielded that stick of his again. Either stick, actually. His tie was red, and an image of it on
my wrists—that were just as red from chafing—flicked through my mind.
“Make sure you wear this,” I said, tugging the tongue of his tie. “And”—I went on
tiptoes to glance over his shoulder—“you might want to get that device of yours. You left it
on the shelf there.”
He stepped back, me still holding his tie, and reached blindly for the stick. After finding
it, he slid it into his inside pocket, and before I knew it, he was looming over me again. He
Harlem Dae
31
kissed me—long and hard and oh so bloody toe-curling—then let me go, abruptly, as if I’d
given him a shock.
I cocked my head and stared at him, disguising my surprise.
“I need to get away from you, woman,” he said, holding his hands up. “Because if I
don’t, I’ll spend all day fucking you on this train. We may well go to Swansea and back and
we wouldn’t notice.”
Relieved he hadn’t meant something else entirely, I laughed. “That wouldn’t be so bad,
would it?”
“No, and that’s the problem. I have an important meeting today. I can’t miss it. And
believe me, if I could, I would. You’re far too tempting.”
“Delilah to your Samson?”
“Something like that.”
He stared at me for what seemed a long time, and I kept a steady gaze, unwilling to let
it waver. I had a feeling he was once again trying to prove I was a sub—to make me look
down or at least shift my eyes left or right.
He wouldn’t win this battle.
A tinny voice came from a hidden speaker, announcing the stop before ours. He
glanced at the door. I allowed myself the beautiful taste of victory. It spread through me,
giving me the shivers and resulting in a tremor in my pussy.
Oh, God, the things he does to me…
“Normally,” he said, “I’d say ladies first, but in this situation I think I’ll leave before
you. In case that man’s out there again.”
“And if he is?”
“I’ll distract him so you can come out.”
He moved toward me, touched his fingertips to my cheek, then walked out of the door.
It closed behind him, and I went to it, opened it a tad to peek into the buffet carriage.
Gabriel was at the other door. He turned and jerked his head. I left our little room and
followed him into our carriage, but I didn’t sit when he did.
Instead, I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “I’m going to the toilet. I want to look
at my arse. Sir.”
BEAUTY AND PAIN
32
He stared up at me, clamping his lips tight as though if he didn’t, he’d say something
he wouldn’t want others to hear. The man next to him had left, but the woman beside my
seat was still there, this time with her headphones dangling around her neck.
I left him and made my way to the toilet. Inside, I yanked up my skirt, pulled my
knickers to my thighs and turned so my bum faced the slim mirror secured to the back of the
door. I stared over my shoulder, pleased to see angry red lines on my backside. Now I knew
what they looked like, I could think of them during the rest of the day.
Pulling my knickers back up then sorting my skirt out, I turned to look at myself. Yes, I
had smudged mascara, but more than that, I had a round pink mark on my face.
The imprint of that drawing pin.
For some reason, that pleased me as much as the red marks on my arse. Perhaps
because it was visible for anyone to see. Other passengers, my work colleagues… My boss.
I left the toilet without fixing my mascara, without rubbing at the mark to make it go
away. I’d wear them as proof of what had happened and wouldn’t give a damn if people
stared at me. I’d had a fantasy and I’d taken the bull by the horns and had gone out to get it,
to make it real. I wasn’t about to hide the proof of the pudding, be made to feel ashamed.
I felt more alive than I had in months.
Back in our carriage, I slid carefully into my seat and stared across at Gabriel. Leaning
toward him, I whispered, “How are you, Sir?”
He clamped his lips together again then said, “You look the perfect little slut like that.”
He nodded. “Your mascara. Don’t wash it off all day. Keep it like that until you meet me in
the supermarket. I want you to look just like you do now—raw and primal.”
His orders thrilled me.
“If that’s what you want, Sir.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve tapped into me pretty well already, sub,” he said
quietly.
I narrowed my eyes in return. “And you’ve tapped into me. Hopefully, if we’re so in
tune, you’ll know exactly which toy to bring tonight, won’t you?”
It was a challenge, one I hoped would fill his lunchtime as he scoured the sex shops in
order to find the perfect thing. Unless he carried something else on him—or had a selection
of toys at home.
Harlem Dae
33
“Here,” he said. “For you.”
He passed me a handful of paper, or at least what I thought was a handful, but when I
took it, I saw it was a carefully constructed rose, origami style, slightly dog-eared but
beautiful all the same.
“What’s this?” I asked, glancing at him then studying the intricate design. The paper
was folded neatly and precisely to form petals that started off small and grew larger. He’d
formed a small stalk too, minus thorns luckily.
“Did you just make this?” I asked. “When I went to the loo?”
He glanced away. “No, I…”
“What?” My God, did he look a bit bashful?
“I made it last week,” he said, “when you were sitting in the seat in front of me. I had
an idea to pass it to you, or leave it on your seat or something.”
“That would have been…sweet.”
He huffed. “Sweet, yeah, I suppose. Open up that big petal.”
I did as he’d asked and saw the word Hello written in blue biro.
“Hello.” I turned to him with a smile.
He grinned. “And the next.” He nodded at the paper flower again.
I peeled that fold back too. There was a pen-drawn picture of a bottle of wine, two
glasses and a table with a candle on it.
“That was my idea of asking you out for dinner. Silly, huh?”
A lovely warm, gooey feeling went through me. He’d been planning on asking me out
for dinner. Had been plucking up the courage and making me little paper presents.
He leaned across the aisle. “If you open the last outer petal, you’ll see the final part of
my message.”
That fold proved a little trickier, it was well slotted in. But once it was free, I saw the
name Gabriel along with a mobile phone number.
I turned to him and held the rose to my chest. I knew in that moment I would keep it
for always, and the fact that it was paper and not real made it all the more special. The
delicate beauty of a handmade flower would always remind me of my sensually painful first
time with Gabriel—at least I hoped that was the first and not the one and only. That thought
didn’t deserve entertaining.
BEAUTY AND PAIN
34
“What would you have said to the dinner question?” he asked. “If I’d dropped it on
your lap or something?”
“Yes, I would have said yes. Still would, actually.” The thought of time with him in any
situation was growing more appealing by the minute.
“Ah, but now we have something so much more fun set up, haven’t we?”
“Yes, and—”
That voice from the speaker came once more, swirling into our conversation and
informing us our stop was imminent. Everyone stood as did we, except we stared at one
another the whole time. I didn’t want to turn away when we had to leave the train, but it was
single file only down the aisle, and one of us would have to break the connection first.
He did, taking my elbow and twisting me so that I walked ahead of him. While we
waited in line as people gathered in front of the doors, he gave my arse a severe pinch. I cried
out in surprise—he’d gotten me right on one of the red lines—and didn’t bother looking
around to see who was giving me their attention. They could stare all they liked.
The doors opened and people surged out, ants pouring from a broken hill, and I inched
up the line, eager to get out into the relatively fresher air of the station, yet wanting to stay
inside the train at the same time. In less than two minutes it would be our moment to say
goodbye.
He pinched my arse again—and twisted.
I managed to remain quiet, biting my bottom lip.
“You had better be ready for another rude awakening on your arse tonight,” he
whispered beside my ear. “That or… Yes.” He paused. “I have something else in mind. I’m
going to make you come so hard…”
I held my breath, hardly believing he’d said what he had. This was the stuff of my
fantasies, and he was the man I’d been looking for.
“Move along, sub. There’s space in front of you and people waiting behind me.”
I walked forward, arse still burning, the heat of it beginning to itch. Jostled out of the
train by a man leaving from the opposite direction, I whirled round to speak to Gabriel.
He wasn’t there.
I frowned, spinning full circle, scanning the crowd to catch sight of him. There were too
many people, and frustration frothed up inside me, threatening to spill out in the form of a
Harlem Dae
35
catty remark to anyone who might bump into me or step on my toes in the surge of the
crowd. I remained where I was, telling myself to keep still until the rush had died down, and
when it had, I took stock of the platform again.
There he was, standing a few feet away at the steps that would take him up to street
level. With one foot at the bottom, left hand on the rail, his unread newspaper under his arm,
he nodded once then raised his other hand. He kissed two of his fingertips then held them up
before winking and disappearing upwards.
My heart skipped a few beats, and I stayed on that platform until everyone had gone
and the train had pulled away, our sexy encounter breezing through my mind. I relived
every second, every touch, every breath, every bite of pain.
Then strode toward the stairs myself, knowing I had that—and more—coming my way
at three a.m.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
That Filthy Book
Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae
Excerpt
Chapter One
I stared at him, this husband of mine, his naked form rendered a silhouette from the
brightness of the sun streaming through the hotel room window. The light filtered through
his black tousled hair, glinted off his shoulders, giving him a glowing aura. This was our first
time alone together since what felt like forever, what with meeting and having children in
the blink of an eye. Ten years had passed—where had the time gone?—and here we were,
away for two nights just so we could get back to being who we used to be; why we’d become
a couple in the first place.
The sun had hung heavy in a blue swathe of cloudless sky earlier, the fiery orb almost
lazy in its placement, as though someone had painted a picture and tossed in the yellow ball,
not caring where it landed. Funny how the sky could be deceptive, making a person think it
was hot outside when it was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Faint, puffy
clouds had appeared since I’d first woken, too, and I marveled at the way my body had gone
back to its old, pre-children habits. Waking, having sex, dozing off again.
Now—around noon—it was time to get up, go out and do something, I supposed, but
what I didn’t know. I didn’t have any energy for anything much beyond another languid
fuck. A tress of my long blonde hair tickled my bare breast, the ends teasing my nipple. It
sparked desire inside me again, and I wondered if my body would ever get enough this
weekend. God, I’d been insatiable since we’d arrived last night. Perhaps shirking off the
shackles of motherhood, of the responsibilities that came with the job, had freed my mind
and allowed me to abandon everything. I had become what I once was—a woman who
enjoyed a hot night of sex with her man, not giving a hoot whether her screams of pleasure
could be heard; whether the banging of the headboard would wake someone.
But I hadn’t shaken them off. Not really. They still lingered, a shadow of feelings,
whispers of our children’s laughter, thinking I could hear them calling me… Tess and Lucy,
our two wonderful little girls. And then there were whispers of my fantasies, ones I’d held in
check since I’d read a sexy book many years ago. Ones that had made me think I was dirty
for wanting them. When I’d first met Jacob, I’d shoved away the feelings of guilt and let the
fantasies surface, briefly. Our rampant sex had been too enjoyable, too damn hot to allow
myself to dwell on whether what we did was right, but as the years had rolled by and I’d
become embroiled in motherhood, kinky sex had fallen by the wayside, and the old
trappings had moved in permanently. We can’t do this because we’re parents. We can’t do
that because of the girls. We can do that because it’s too rude…
I stared at my surroundings to force my thoughts in another direction. The room wasn’t
much, just a double bed with white sheets and a beige quilt. Low cabinets either side, the
perfunctory wardrobe and a sideboard, all in light wood that matched the color of the quilt
and walls. A sea of beige. But it suited our needs. The decoration hadn’t exactly been on our
minds when we’d stumbled through the door last night. Ripping one another’s clothes off
had been the order of the evening.
“What are you thinking?” Jacob asked, remaining at the window.
And there he was, not even a flicker of movement indicating that he’d turned around.
Just him, standing there, a god in front of a glass pane. I studied his reflection instead of
responding, squinting to make out the faint, fine taper of hairs that ran from his belly button
down to the curly thatch nestled above his cock. A long cock that was semi-hard, heavy-
looking, and eminently touchable. I loved the feel of it in my hand, the way my fingers curled
around its width, the softness of his skin on mine. A thrill ran through me at the thought of
it, and I folded my arms across my breasts in an effort to stop me from fondling them. But
why shouldn’t I? Too many nights we’d hurried, coming together in a rush before the
inevitable interruptions came. Too many nights I’d denied myself the pleasure of having
Jacob inside me.
‘Mum, I want a drink of water. Mum, I can’t sleep…’
Stop thinking of them. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do that.
And I had, but casting aside the parental mantle wasn’t as easy as I’d told Jacob it
would be. Wasn’t as easy as flicking a switch. They crept in, the two girls we’d created—
smiling faces filling my mind, eclipsed by their worried expressions that made me think they
weren’t coping well without us.
They’re with Jacob’s mum and dad. They’ll be fine.
My determination that we could do this had persuaded Jacob to come away with me. It
had been a big thing, this, leaving the children behind, but if we hadn’t done it now we never
would.
“Is it the kids?” he asked.
“No.”
I didn’t lie often, but if I admitted my thoughts then he would tag onto the worry
bandwagon and we’d end up going home. I didn’t want that. I wanted the rest of the day, the
night, and the majority of tomorrow morning to be just me and him. It wasn’t too much to
ask, was it? Not after ten years of being devoted and never going out to the pub, never
leaving them…
“I was thinking about us,” I said, throwing the sheet away from my body and sitting
up. I stretched; a fingers-pointing-to-the-ceiling kind of stretch that chased away all the kinks
and left me loose-limbed and pliant.
Pliant.
Now there was a word that brought a rush of desire to my cunt. Pliant made me think
of suppleness, of legs and arms twisted in difficult positions, of torsos arched and backs
curved. Jacob was pliant, always had been, and once upon a time I’d been able to bend with
the best of them. But now, after the kids and getting out of my workout routine, a little
weight had settled on my bones, preventing me doing all those delicious things I used to do.
Like bending over to touch my toes and being taken from behind. Like widening my legs to
such a degree it was as though I was being forced into that position. Not that I had been
forced, but it was something I thought about every so often. Him taking me against my will,
a scenario that thrilled me more than it perhaps should have. Just a little fantasy to keep me
warm when Jacob worked away. And the book I’d read had planted it into my mind, yet I’d
tried to forget what rested between the front and back covers, telling myself it just wasn’t
proper to want such things.
“What about us?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head and jutting his abdomen
out until his cock almost touched the glass.
“Someone could see you like that, you know.” I’d avoided his question because…hell,
I’d grown shy somehow, grown out of being able to tell him exactly what was on my mind. It
made me feel embarrassed to say I’d been recalling the days when we’d fucked for hours,
sweat-soaked and sore, falling asleep only to wake for more of the same. My mind had also
wandered to the forced entry thing, hadn’t it? A flicker of fast images shooting across the air
in front of me as though they were the real thing. Rough and ready sex. Pleasure-pain. Jacob
speaking sharply, his hands also abrasive, palms scouring my skin instead of skimming. His
cock a relentless shunt instead of a glide. Tongue an insistent probe instead of a gentle
exploration.
How come being here had enabled my old self to at first poke me with a tentative
finger, but now jabbed with urgent pressure?
“I don’t give a shit,” he said on a laugh.
It took me a moment to realize what he meant. I thought back to what we’d been
talking about. His cock on the glass. Someone seeing. A surge of desire swarmed over me at
that. Being watched—was it something I could handle one day? Oh, not having a third
person in our life. No, I’m too jealous to share our time together, even if it involved another
man. But being somewhere, knowing we could possibly have an observer?
I think I could. Maybe.
“We’re too high up, anyway,” he went on.
I smiled at the fact he was oblivious to my thoughts, that he had no idea I had suddenly
become someone who wanted a whole lot more from her sex life than what we’d been doing.
It wasn’t that Jacob was crap in bed, nothing like that, just that… God, I wanted more time to
explore, more time full stop. And what the hell would he think about my fantasies anyway?
Were they too ‘out there’ for him? They wouldn’t have been years ago, but now…
I wasn’t sure I even had the courage to share them.
“Come and stand with me,” he said.
“What, naked?”
I stood, hesitant to do as he asked. What if someone spotted us and called the police,
telling them a couple in The Grand were indecently exposed in the window?
Admit it. Although scary, it is exciting.
“Yes, naked. Come on. All that’s out there is the street, and that’s way down below.
Nothing opposite, unless you count the buildings half the size of this one. We’re in a five-
hundred-room hotel, love. A tall one.”
Sod it. This weekend I was supposed to be my real self, find the woman who’d been
lost amidst school runs and after-school clubs. And if I dug beneath the guilt I could feel that
the thrill of being naughty, a rebel, was still with me. But what about the girls and…
Stop it.
I walked to the window, stood behind him and peeked around his arm. He was right.
Too far up for anyone to see us, yet still it felt too naughty. It was one thing to fantasize about
it, but to actually do it… What if someone had binoculars?
“I’m telling you,” he said, as though he’d read my mind, “no one will see us. D’you
really think anyone would give a toss if they did? They’d probably see us as two dirty,
middle-aged people anyway. If they’re young, that is. Remember how we used to think that
about people our age?”
I cupped my hands around his biceps and pressed my cheek to his back, his skin warm
and soothing. He smelled of his recent shower, all flowery hotel soap and alien-smelling
shampoo, and the faint aroma of clinically washed towels, totally absent of the scent of my
usual fabric softener. Home was intruding again, so I switched the images off.
And yes, I remembered thinking that. Remembered thinking it was gross that older
people ‘did it’. Yet here we were, older and still doing it. Funny how your perspective
changes.
“Hmmm,” I said. “But with age comes a better understanding. Love helps, too. It goes
deeper than it did years ago, pardon the pun.”
He laughed, a low rumble that reverberated through my cheek and sent ripples of lust
to my pussy. I wanted him again, hard and fast, no foreplay or sentimental sweet nothings.
Just pure, honest fucking. I stared at the way his ear curved, recalled how the lobe felt in my
mouth, sweetly soft and fleshy. A wave of love consumed me. How was it possible I could
care for him more than I did back then? I thought I loved him as much as I could, full to
bursting with adoration and respect, yet every day, every month, each new year brought a
stronger connection.
God, I was so damn lucky.
My eyes stung, the emotion getting a better hold on me than I wanted it to. No time for
sentimental tears, just time for us. The thought that it would take until tomorrow to fully
relax struck me as typical—it would be time to go home and leave this weekend behind.
Except this time together would remain in our memories, and we could whisper about it in
bed at night when we felt the need to recapture it. I’d have to be content with that because
there was no way we could stay here longer. Jacob had work to return to, and the girls had
school. His parents were going away on Tuesday, a leisurely cruise in the Mediterranean for
a week, and with my parents living in the arse end of nowhere in Scotland, getting them to
come down to babysit wasn’t an option.
I was a bundle of contradictions, wasn’t I? One minute I’d forgotten our home life, the
next I hadn’t. It was the idle times, that was it—moments where I allowed my mind to
wander and think things I shouldn’t. Swallowing deeply, I told myself to enjoy what
remained of our weekend together—otherwise, I’d regret it later.
“Do you think we ought to do some sightseeing or something?” I asked, wondering, if
he’d answer in the affirmative, whether I could muster the energy to get dressed let alone
waltz through the nearby park or visit the art museum. We’d promised ourselves an
afternoon of appreciating art, gazing at the beauty created by others and discussing how each
piece made us feel inside. “We could do,” he said. “After.”
“After what?” I smiled, my bunching cheek squashed against his shoulder blade, my
breasts heated from his skin. The rest of me felt chilled, as though I needed the whole of him
wrapped around me, arms and legs a warm embrace.
“After I fuck you against this window.”
I gasped, widening my eyes at what he’d said. It seemed he’d returned to his old self
more easily than I had. I wanted to answer that he could fuck me against anything he liked,
anytime he wanted—he didn’t have to ask. He could just grab me, pin me down and forge
into me. I wanted it hard and fast, hot and panting, my body at his mercy. Whatever he
wanted to do to me, he could.
There it was again, that urge to give up control to him completely. A fuck where I had
no say in it. His rules, his pleasure. It flooded my mind like a cloud of dangerous desire.
But again I didn’t say anything about handing over control. The words wouldn’t come,
stuck in my throat as they were, a big ball of unspoken needs that swelled to be released.
Pushing, expanding.
“Talk to me,” he said. “Like you used to. Dirty and rough. While there’s no one but me
to hear you.”
A sudden bout of insecurity gripped me, a closing fist around my heart, creating a
flutter of panic and the inability to breathe properly. I’d been so free and easy before we’d
had the girls, so ready to try anything, do anything; caught up in the first flush of love. And
now…
“I can’t.” I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for the feeling to pass.
“Can’t?”
He covered my hands with his, the warmth of his touch giving me a jolt of longing. I
imagined those hands roving my skin, seeking out my special places, erogenous zones that
he knew by heart. My pulse thrummed, loud in my ears, the throb of my heartbeat an almost
violent smack against my ribs. I cracked open my eyes, peeked around him to see his
fingertips pressed down on my hand, the ends white where he held me so tightly. Did he
hold me like that because he’d anticipated a negative answer? A rush of guilt took over me,
heating my cheeks and bringing on the need to cry. I was spoiling this, wasn’t I—by not
keeping to my promise to play the game as though we were free spirits who could do
anything we wanted?
“I feel stupid,” I said quietly, wanting him to take over, to talk to me dirty and remind
me how it was done.
Because I had forgotten.
“Stupid? Why?”
His chest inflated, his back rising beneath my face, and he held his breath.
“Because…because I’ve forgotten how to do it. And if I say what I want, it might not
come out right and I’ll feel silly.”
He turned, just that movement alone soaking my cunt, and cradled me against him.
Hands on my back, he rubbed them up and down, the motion soothing, chasing away the
goosebumps, giving me the sense that everything would always be all right when he held me
like this. He was magic, my husband, this man who had promised to take care of me until the
day he died, ensuring I was never sad, never had reason to cry. I was the kind of woman
who floundered without him near, who, when panicked or insecure, only needed him to
walk in the room and everything bad would melt away.
“You never have to feel silly with me,” he said, the words low and reassuring. “Never.
I’ve told you that before. Did you forget that too?”
How could I? He’d said it often enough, and I wondered then whether he got tired of
his constant encouragement, of always having to work to make me believe him. He was
devoted, I knew that. Knew it deep inside me, where I kept the special memories, the
nuggets of love he’d shown me, those private moments between us that no one else knew
about. Small touches, glances in a crowded room, even in the supermarket, where the gap
between us was too wide and I wanted nothing more than to rush to him, to have his arms
about me.
To have the cushioned feeling of being adored.
I embraced him, splaying my palms on his back and resting my cheek on his chest. His
heart beat wildly, a manic rhythm that matched mine, as though we both anticipated what
was to come. We knew I would give it a try, that I’d utter words I hadn’t spoken in years, in a
voice that was husky and all kinds of sexy.
We just had to wait for me to fully come back. She was there, simmering below the
surface, filling my mind with all manner of filthy things—she just needed that extra push to
come out, that was all.
“Tell me. Remind me what I used to say,” I whispered. I held my breath, knowing I
would blush when he recited words from the past. How had I become so…boring? So shy?
“Ah, that’s easy. I’ll never forget.” He held me tighter, his warmth oozing into my skin
like the heat of bath water. “Some days I sit and remember, think about the old days and
wish—”
“That I was like that again?”
Oh, God. I’ve made him as boring as me, having to turn to daydreams in order to get his jollies.
How long has he been thinking of the past?
He took a moment before he answered. Weighing up how to phrase it, I’d bet.
“Not necessarily that, no. Just wishing that you’d let yourself go every so often. Not be
so good all the time.”
“Good?” I lifted my head and stared up at him, into dark brown eyes that melted my
knees with their long, thick black lashes. “Is that what I am now? Good?”
God, I was boring. I’d slipped into that rut people talked about. The one where the wife
became staid and unyielding in the bedroom. Where a bed was just for sleeping, maybe a
quick fuck once a month. The rut I’d always vowed never to get into. But that rut was deep;
it went so far down that I couldn’t see over the damn top when it came to talking dirty. I
bristled, knowing exactly what he meant, knowing I ought to keep my mouth shut because
I’d let things spill out that weren’t intended for him. No, what I wanted to say was a torrent
of sentences berating myself, and I couldn’t do that, not in front of Jacob. He said it hurt him
when I put myself down. Like a physical pain deep inside. If I ranted now, I’d do so knowing
I’d upset him.
He stroked my face with both hands, staring down at me as though I was the most
precious thing to walk the planet, and I felt wretched. For letting him down. Becoming ‘one
of those women’. For allowing us to change.
“Tell me,” I said, disliking the begging tone that rimmed the words. “Come on. Tell me
what I used to say. Help me say it again.”
I was desperate now, truly desperate to recapture what we’d once had. The thought of
how we’d been lately… God, it was shameful. I wanted to say the words so badly, but
something blocked their exit. They were all there in my head; delicious, filthy sentences that
would make any grandmother’s toes curl; ones I’d read in a book many years ago, yet when I
opened my mouth to force them out, they lodged in my throat. Frustration added to
desperation made me whimper. I felt so helpless, useless, a stupid, insecure bundle of nerves.
He smiled, a stretch of those beautiful lips that showed his straight teeth, all except the
one canine that stuck out a little. “Let me see. What did you used to say…?”
My heart contracted with love for him. He was doing what he always did—making
everything okay again. Taking the pressure off me and having the burden on his shoulders.
How the hell had I been so lucky to find him, to keep him? My eyes stung, and I blinked,
swallowed hard and prayed the tears wouldn’t fall.
He glanced up at the ceiling, a teasing gesture that had me wanting to grasp him
around the neck and force his gaze back to me. I wanted to reach up and touch the knobbly
scar beside his eye, to brush my thumb down his cheek. His pretense of being deep in
thought drove a spike of new frustration into my gut, yet I smiled, because as well as doing
this for me, he was playing with me. Enjoying it, too.
“Fuck my cunt,” he said, lowering his head so his gaze met mine again. “Fuck my cunt,
that’s what you used to say. Jacob, come over here and lick my wet pussy.” He brushed his
lips over mine. “Remember that?”
I blushed—damn it, I knew I would—and memories came flooding back. Me on the bed
with my legs open wide, my clit aching, throbbing, the need for him to lick it, suck it into his
mouth, so strong it took my breath away. Me bending over the bed, hands on the mattress,
feet apart on the rug, begging him to fuck my cunt from behind. I’d said those words and
more, my God I had, but could I say them again?
He continued. “Jacob, suck my nipples. God, yes, suck them harder. Suck them until
they hurt. That’s it, baby, bite them. Hold them between your teeth and pull. Harder. Fuck,
Jacob, fuck I’m so wet…”
And I was wet now. As I shifted slightly from foot to foot, my labia glided and juices
seeped, dampening my inner thighs. My channel clenched, a sharp spasm that coincided
with my clit expanding. I dug my nails into his back, drawing them down to his buttocks,
and counted to ten. He kissed the top of my head, his hands exploring, casting warming
circles on my arse. We stood this way for what seemed a long time, me rolling those words
around in my head to test them; see how they sounded years after I’d last spoken them.
“Fuck my cunt,” I whispered, tasting the delicious filth of those words on my tongue.
“Suck my nipples,” said with a little more courage and a little less embarrassment.
“Just a bit louder, love. I didn’t quite catch what you said.”
I knew he had, knew he was doing what he always did. Encouraging me. Letting me
know I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it. I lifted my head, a surge of desire
swelling my folds, and swallowed the last of my nervousness.
“Do it, Jacob,” I said, staring straight at him, a challenge to myself to see this through.
“Fuck my cunt and suck my nipples. Hard.”
About the Authors
Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae have been writing together for several years now on top
of their individual author projects. Their joint name is now Harlem Dae. They enjoy
being represented by traditional houses including HarperCollins and Totally Bound as
well as self-publishing their sexy stories on Amazon.
Both live in the UK and gain great satisfaction from bouncing characters and their
raunchy antics back and forth, growing, nurturing and stoking plot lines until they
steam off the page and push boundaries. They consider themselves to be solitary,
whacky, spontaneous and desirous for many things including perfection and are
frequently caught sending messages back and forth referring to each other as Rodney
and Delboy.
Email:
Lily and Natalie love to hear from readers. You can find their contact information,
website and author biography at
Also by Lily Harlem and Natalie Dae
Also by Lily Harlem
Treble: Orchestrating Manoeuvres
Stand to Attention: Who Dares Wins
Christmas Crackers: Candy Canes and Coal Dust
Bollywood: The Unwholesome Adventures of Harita
Also by Natalie Dae
Fantasies Explored: Think Kink
Fantasies Explored: Thinking Kinkier
Fantasies Explored: Kinky Thinking
Bound to the Billionaire: Waiting for Him
Totally Bound Publishing