Tag: contemporary erotic romance

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Friday Snippet: Lie to You (Part 1)

(I know it’s not Friday my time yet…but it is Friday somewhere.  Right?  I didn’t want to torment my Twitter buds until tomorrow!)

When the beta readers replied back after reading Victor’s story Hurt Me So Good, several people mentioned wanting to know more about how he and Shiloh first met.  There’s a reference in the opening chapter about how that interview “set his desk on fire.”  That sounds like a great free read, right?

Luckily, Victor agreed, so he’s here to tell you all about that first meeting in a short story “Lie to You.”   Over the next week or two, I’ll serialize it for you here, and then you’ll be able to download it in pdf or epub. 

Warning:  BDSM and sexual content.

 

Victor Connagher stared at the nearly nude woman squirming against her bonds and felt nothing but boredom.

Silken, Dallas’s exclusive bondage club, was packed with eager, fawning submissives and spectators alike.  A few Dominants mingled in the crowd, but only two that he knew, and they were both already involved.  Oh, there were posers who flapped around and crowed like roosters in the hen house, but if they obviously couldn’t control themselves, they wouldn’t be getting too serious with anyone. 

The owner would be desperate for an unattached Dominant to give a real show tonight.

Victor knew he ought to leave, no matter how much he needed to do something, anything, to ease this brutal need.  There was no way in hell he’d play it cool enough to pull off a demonstrative scene, not when he felt this raw and out of control. 

Once upon a time, he’d been able to put on a pretty good show.  He’d drawn out every sweet cry of his submissive, taunted the audience to a fevered pitch, and endured the torment of his own unanswered needs.  Even that denial had been a secret pain that he’d enjoyed. 

Nobody had known he’d been playing a game.  Lying.  To himself and everyone.

A pained gasp drew his gaze back to the bound woman.  Her lover—because if that moron fumbling with a velvet flail was a Dominant with a capital D, then Victor would eat his own crop—landed a blow to her buttocks that wouldn’t have killed a fly.  She squealed dramatically, and Victor clenched his jaws to keep from letting out a derisive laugh. 

So fake.  So scripted.  So boring.

He glanced at the sweating, eager faces watching so avidly and he wanted to scatter them with a few well-placed blows.  Bored out of his skull and pissed that he’d lied this game for years, he turned around to leave but jerked up short.

His ex-fiancée, Kimberly, stood in front of him, twisting her delicate hands together with anxiety, as beautiful and fragile as he remembered.  She’d never kindled any true passion in him, which is exactly why he’d chosen her.  Another lie, that he could pretend long and well enough that she’d never find out what he hid beneath the constant mask he wore. 

I can’t believe I was stupid enough to date her so long, let alone ask her to marry me.

The man she was with wrapped an arm around her waist.  Victor tracked that male arm up to his face and bit back a curse.  Ryan, the owner of the club, boomed a welcome.  “Victor!  It’s so great to see you again!  We’ve been wondering where you’d been lately.”

At least Victor’s boredom was gone, but his stomach churned with a multitude of emotions, shame and regret leading the charge.  He tried to think of something he could say that didn’t make him sound like a jealous asshole, because he really wasn’t jealous.  Not even when Kimberly turned more into the other man’s embrace, clutching him frantically like she thought the big bad wolf was going to eat her whole. 

Eyes bright with hope, Ryan asked, “Could you do a scene for us tonight?  You’d bring the house down!”

For the briefest moment, blinding terror flashed in her eyes, and Victor knew she must be remembering their last night together.  The illusion that he could be a loving, protective husband had been shattered that night, when he’d hurt her so badly that she’d fled, still babbling her safeword.

He felt his face freeze into a cold, empty, and terribly familiar mask.  “No.”

Ryan said something else in that jovial blustering way of his but Victor didn’t hear him.  Without another word, he turned away.  He strode to the exit, his pace measured but determined to get out of there as quickly as possible.  He didn’t let them see the terrifying need hammering away inside his body, or the disgusted shame burning like acid up his throat.  He didn’t let them see him run.  Another lie, because he fled into the night. 

Only when he made it to the privacy of his car did he let the rage bubble free.  He trembled with the force of it.  God, he’d been such a fool.  He’d deliberately hidden his true nature from the woman he professed to love and honor.  He’d lied to everyone, especially himself.  There was no way in hell he could ever step foot back in that club and pretend to be a normal, sane Dominant having a little fun with a willing submissive.

Not with this darkness clawing inside him.

He reached beneath his seat, fumbling a bit until he found what he was looking for.  In the shadowed parking lot, he couldn’t see the details of the crop, but the leather wrapped around the shaft bit into his palm.  He cast a furtive glance to make sure no one was around, and then he brought the crop down across his thighs.  The steering wheel and close quarters hampered his blow, but blissful pain still cut across his skin. 

The sharp crack dissolved some of the desperation shrieking inside him.  So sweet.  It’d been so long since he’d indulged.  Since Kimberly dumped me months ago.

He laid the crop in his lap, started his car, and drove home, fingering that leather with anticipation.  In record time, he stood in his bedroom.  He forced himself to methodically strip and put away his clothes.  He yanked out the band holding his shoulder-length hair back so tight from his face and he felt his control falter. 

Some days the only thing holding him back was that fiercely tightened hair, the constant dull ache on his scalp reminding him to keep the monster at bay.  Tonight, the beast refused to be denied.  Yet he still made himself wait, letting his need build in intensity. 

He tried to imagine a submissive waiting for him to begin.  A woman, bent over the side of his bed, every sweet curve of her body begging for the crop to fall. 

He brought the crop down on his right thigh in a whistling blow that made his entire body jolt, but it was her scream he heard.  She’d be loud, rewarding him with every cry, curse, and shout.  She would be afraid of him…but not terrified.  Not disgusted.  She would endure the pain because he willed it, because he needed it, and she needed and wanted to please him above anything else in this world. 

If he were incredibly lucky—and since this was a fantasy, he might as well enjoy it fully—she’d even get off on the pain, too.  No silly games, no bondage or role play to distract him, only the ecstasy of pain.

He brought the crop down again.  He didn’t need to slowly build intensity, because the need was always there, digging vicious claws into his spine.  He knew exactly how hard he could strike without cutting his skin wide open, but tonight, he did it anyway.  He bled.  He cursed.  And he came with such intensity that his bad knee gave out and he nearly planted his face on the carpet.

He’d punished himself because he had to have pain, and without a willing submissive, his own would have to do.  Most of all, he’d punished himself for the greatest lie of all.

There was no submissive out there somewhere, waiting for him, his pain, and his love.

 

Victor’s story HURT ME SO GOOD will be released Oct. 5th from Samhain Publishing.

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My First Romantic Times Review!

For Dear Sir, I’m Yours, Romantic Times gives 4 stars!   Review

This story of long-lost love coming into its own is sure to please readers looking for a happily-ever-after ending, with a little spanking and light BDSM thrown in. The grandmother is a gem.

Way to go Miss Belle!  Conn feels the need to dedicate an Ode to her.

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Dear Sir I’m Yours Review

This is an incredible back-and-forth dual (duel!) review of Dear Sir, I’m Yours, between The HEA Lover and The Geeky Lover at Book Lovers Inc.  They get into characters, go way back to the free prequel Letters and free sequel Take Me — what an incredible, detailed review!  Plus they had some awesome things to say about Conn.  *winks*

Conn… *drools*  Sorry about that, Conn is just perfect. When I read Letters I was intrigued by him. He had so much power about him, he really is a Dominant. I was under his spell! I still am in fact. I loved him even more after reading DSIY, he’s perfect! He took his time to explain everything to Rae. And such a wicked mind!! Spank me Conn Spank ME!!

Haha, I love it.  It made me laugh out loud!

Overall Impression:

The HEA Lover: I want to say: Go read it!! This is an amazing story, and if you are, like me, a newbie to BDSM you will enjoy the ride. The characters are so attaching I didn’t want to leave them. Letters is a Free read, every one should at least try to read Letters. If you love letters you will love DSIY.  You won’t regret it, I am VERY happy I listened to Susi’s recommendation, it was a perfect book for me. I cannot wait for Victor’s book to be out, I’m so excited *bouncing* I feel like I didn’t do justice to how amazing this book is.

The Geeky Lover: Agree with all the above. If you alway thought you are to vanilla for BDSM this book will change your mind. It’s such a lovely emotional story that will take your hand and approach this topic in a way that will leave your heart touched and body overheated. Take a look at Letters if you are unsure and believe me, you won’t regret it.

Thank you so much, Book Lovers Inc!  I’ll have an interview with them on April 5th, so watch for the link!

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Victor is Almost Ready…

One of the joys of having a dog that we can’t trust to last more than 8 hours without a mess is getting up before 8 AM on a Saturday with 6+ inches of snow on the ground so she can go potty.  The house was quiet another hour before the sleepy-head monsters got up (they were out of school yesterday and stayed up later than usual), so I worked frantically on Victor’s synopsis.

I already had several ideas jotted on notecards, but I hadn’t been able to piece them together in a coherent way yet.  Thankfully, the pieces fell together this morning and I’ve got both a blurb and synopsis (I typically do both at the same time) drafted that I really like.  I’ll let it sit another day or so — I can’t help but tweak here and tweak there, add a word, change this phrase. 

Sherrialready provided incredible feedback and gave me one little thread to mull over.  Writing the synopsis also helped me realize I needed to add a couple of paragraphs to the scene with Mama Connagher.  Otherwise, I think I’m *this close* to kicking Victor out the door. 

If you’re curious, this is the blurb I worked up this morning.  Does it make you want to buy it and read more?

Reluctant Dom Victor Connnagher has been hiding the truth for years: he’s the meanest sadist in Dallas. As the CEO of a risque cable channel, he supports the BDSM community but doesn’t trust himself to participate. Not after he hurt his submissive fiancee [changed per Nicole’s suggestion] so badly that she dumped him.

Saucy and confident despite being submissive, Shiloh Holmes needs pain and a man who’s not afraid to give it. She suspects her boss is a Master with a capital M, so she creates a BDSM reality show for his channel in order to gain his attention.

On America’s Next Top sub, Shiloh will prove once and for all that she can please Master V. In any way he wishes.

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Friday Snippet: Hurt Me So Good

Thank you to everyone who has contacted me about beta-reading.   This post was actually scheduled last night, so I’ll post the Giveaway winner shortly.

Victor’s been on my mind all week, so I thought I’d post one last bit before I move on to the next story.  I’ve been talking about him and his riding crop until you’re probably sick of it, but you haven’t really seen him in action.

Until today.

In this scene, they’re filming the trailer for their BDSM reality show that Shiloh created specifically for him so she could get close to him.  They’re playing here for the show, but it’s also the first time they get to play a scene together, if you know what I mean.  The language is fairly clean but he does use the crop on her, so please don’t read further if that kind of scene will offend you.  

Of course, since this is the first real scene with the crop, the rest grow in intensity.  *winks*

 

On their brand-new set for America’s Next Top sub, Shiloh had never felt sexier.  The outfit wasn’t exactly historically accurate, but from the darkness burning in Victor’s eyes, she’d accomplished her purpose.  She wore a short muslin shift barely more than a tank top with a white corset over the top, lifting her breasts and pushing out her booty.  To make the scene as sexy as possible, she wore white lacy high-cut panties that disappeared beneath the corset.  Without any skirt or petticoat, her ass was barely covered enough for TV.

      Delicate pink stockings encased her legs to mid-thigh, tied with white ribbons, and she wore heels elaborately covered in sparkling crystals.  Sweeping white feathers formed her mask, swan wings to frame her face and conceal most of her hair.  She didn’t think her own mother would recognize her.

      Victor wore tall gleaming riding boots and black jodhpurs that concealed the protective brace on his knee.  His shirt was plain white linen, loose and open at the neck with billowing sleeves tied at his wrists.  She hadn’t dared ask, but he’d opted to leave his hair loose, glossy black and tousled about his shoulders.  Black wings covered his face except for his mouth and eyes, sweeping tight to his head and down to his shoulders.

      Of course, the Master’s look was completed with his crop.

      She stared at that crop and her stomach turned to cold, hard lead, even while a rush of liquid warmth flooded her veins.

      “What’s the set up?”

      The distant, reserved tone of his voice helped her focus on the show, and not the Master.  “This is the opening shot that will play at the beginning of every single episode.  We didn’t want to associate our show with Silken every single time, so we chose a basic neutral shot here.”

      “Good.” He gave a curt nod, barely meeting her gaze.  “Where do you want me?”

      It felt strange to give him orders, but he’d made her showrunner.  This was her idea.  She wanted it to succeed on multiple levels, not the least of which was her career.

      She directed him to sit in a simple wooden chair with the crop in his lap.  “The scene opens with you cleaning and preparing your equipment.  The light will be focused on you, casting the rest of the area in shadows.  When you’re satisfied with the gleam on the leather, stand up.  The lighting will slowly brighten to show me at your feet, waiting for your attention.  We need a few minutes of Master/slave play.” Her throat tightened, making her voice gruff.  “Your choice.”

      “Excellent.” He smiled, and it was far from the mellow ease last night as he groaned beneath her hands.  This man couldn’t wait to bring that crop down on her flesh.  “I always thought we should eroticize the cleaning and care of our tools.”

      Mal snorted.  “I think your tool gets plenty of care, V.”

      Chuckling, he spread his knees wider and picked up an oiled cloth.  “Not yet.”  

      He met Shiloh’s gaze and her nerves zinged as though she’d been electrocuted.  He pointed the crop at the floor to his right.  He didn’t have to say a word.  From the tip of his smallest finger to the soles of his feet, the Master commanded her to kneel at his feet.

      That quickly, she slipped fully into the role of his submissive.  The show meant nothing.  This was their first scene, her chance to give him exactly what she’d been dreaming about.  As gracefully as possible, she knelt where indicated and pressed her face to the floor six inches from his boot.

      #

      Cameras rolled, lights blazed into his eyes, but Victor had one thought only: the woman waiting at his feet.  He’d never enacted a scene for one of his shows before, although he was no stranger to performances.  Sometimes it was hard to ignore the crowd; other times, the audience fed off the scene’s energy and multiplied it, frenzied as though they could feel his lust and power.  That’s exactly what he wanted this scene, this entire show, to bring to Dallas.

      With slow, deliberate intent, he stroked the cloth over the leather, lovingly caring for the weapon that could bring so much pain.  He’d carried it for years, and although he’d tried various other tools of the trade, he always came back to this crop.  It fit his hand perfectly, flexible but stout with a wide tip that combined to make a wickedly vicious whoosh.

      “That’s good, V,” Mal called from the side.  “It looks like you’re making love to the crop.  Prepare for the lights to brighten.”

      He gripped the crop in both hands at either end and stood, letting the camera focus solely on the Master’s weapon.  He wanted the viewers to lean toward the screen, breathless with anticipation about what he intended to do with it.  Light flooded the floor, and someone off to the left gasped, even though they’d all known Shiloh was there.

      He raised both arms overhead and turned his body slightly, giving his profile to the camera.  Poised, he waited what seemed like an eternity, and then he jerked his left hand down toward his thigh.  The crop whistled through the air.  Leather smacked against his thigh in a satisfying crack.  The stinging cut of the crop heightened his senses, focusing his mind and body on one thing only.

      Dominion.

      Shiloh’s hand crept out to touch his boot, begging for the next blow.

      He waited until she wrapped her hand around his ankle, and then he reached down, seized a handful of her hair at her nape, and hauled her up to her knees.  Bending down, he glared into her eyes.  “Why are you here?”

      He chose to say those words because that’s how he always opened a serious scene, and while this scene might be taped for a TV show, it was real, serious, heavy shit, to him at least.  He wanted to make sure she had committed to it as much as he did.  Unscripted, her responses would reveal her true intentions.  What did she expect to get out of a scene with him?

      “To submit to you, Master.”

      He straightened slightly, widening his stance, his left arm held out and back to the side, keeping the crop visible for the shot.  “What may I do to you?”

      “Anything you want, Master.”

      Ah, yes, she couldn’t have given him a more perfect response.

      He drew her closer, deliberately lifting her face toward his crotch.  She made it look pretty instead of vulgar, her back arched, her gorgeous ass lifted to tempt him.  Even if they were alone, he wouldn’t have let her touch him.  He merely wanted to torment her with what she couldn’t have.  Not until she’d satisfied his other urges.

      Her lips were soft, open, her face hauntingly beautiful with the stark lights blaring down on her and feathers curled about her cheeks.  She resisted his grip, pulling her own hair in order to lean closer, trying to get her mouth on him.

      The lights dimmed, breaking the moment.

      “Hold on just a minute,” Mal said to him, then louder, “Bring up the backlights.  This next part we want only their silhouette.  Okay, good.  When you’re ready, V.”

      “Ready for what?” Someone asked in a loud whisper.

      He whipped the crop over his head and brought it crashing down on Shiloh’s buttocks. 

      She let out a low, throaty moan that tore at his control.  He knew the blistering fire that had exploded on her skin, the deep throbbing pain despite his care to control his arm.  He never started as heavy as he would end; even as a sadist, he took care to begin with a sensual blow and not a cutting one backed by his full strength. 

      However, after denying his darker urges for so long, he was close to coming from that blissful sound of her cry alone.  To reward her, he let her rub her face high on his thigh.

      Shocked silence hung over the set for several long seconds, and then his crew erupted into cheers. 

      “Bring the lights up,” Mal said.  “Let’s see the whole thing from the beginning and see if we need to re-shoot.”

      Victor clenched his fist on the crop, grinding his teeth with fury.  He did not want to stop.  He did not want to sit down and watch the tape.  He wanted—

      Shiloh stared up at him, her eyes wide, glistening with tears, pleading.  “Please.”

      Don’t stop.

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Victor: Hurt Me So Good

The title I’m going with for now:  Hurt Me So Good.  I’m sure we’ll go through dozens of new ones, but this title says so much about the book.  It’s really perfect in a lot of ways, and stays true to the personal structure of Dear Sir, I’m Yours.

I’ve made two complete revision passes through Victor’s book, growing it slightly to 73.5K, a nice, meaty read.  I decided to keep the blog idea and added a few crucial posts to the story, similar to Rae’s letters to Conn.  The blog plays a crucial part in the external storyline, so I thought it fit, and it let me mix in some humor and layers of character.  

In the mix of revising Return to Shanhasson and the Maya story, I forgot how much I love this book.  Whew, baby, does Victor smolder.  Shiloh is unlike ANY heroine I have ever written before and I love her to pieces.  I wish I knew her in real life.  Sometimes I had to close my eyes in order to type her dialogue because she takes great pride in telling Victor exactly what she wants in brutal, dirty detail.  *snickers*

And Victor, well.  Let’s just say even Gregar is saluting him with his rahke. 

All that remains is the synopsis, and a few beta reads if anyone is so inclined.  My usual warnings and caveats:  my editor hasn’t gotten it yet and things may change after she makes her edit requests.  I don’t want a critique — just a read and judgment of enjoyment factor, although if you catch a typo, I’ll be ever grateful. 

This book is erotic romance–including BDSM, rough language, and the use of a riding crop–and NOT for the faint of heart.  If you’re still interested, e-mail me.  I reserve the right to decline if we’re not a good fit or if I’ve already received enough offers.  I’ll trade full reads with writers and give a final electronic copy to readers, as well as thank you in the dedication.

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Dear Sir, I’m Yours Review

Dr. Connagher received 5 kisses from TwoLips Reviews!

Dear Sir, I’m Yours by Joely Sue Burkhart teased me from the beginning to the end. It showed me the most intimate parts of two very lovely individuals. Rae turned into a strong woman who learned how to ask for what she wanted in her man, while Conn integrated himself back into her life. Between the secondary characters and the cunning grandmother who put two and two together, I found myself deeply enthralled and laughing at the matchmaking attempt to bring two people together who needed a push.

Read the whole review here.  Thank you, Sin!

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NaNoWriMo: Day 30 Final #Victor Snippet

Despite just a little over 4 hours of sleep, I’m alive this morning and working on getting the monsters out the door for school.  I’ll post one last snippet from Victor, and then I’ll have to find something else to entertain you for Friday Snippets.  It might be January before I start that tradition up again, because Dec. will be finishing Victor and Revision Hell, on not one but two books.

First up, it’s past time for me to revise Return to Shanhasson, last year’s NaNo novel that took me until Dec. 23 to finish (105K).  I have something I’d like to try, and I can’t do it unless this book is ready to go.  If it works out, I’ll post details later.

After Victor has sat for a couple of weeks, I’ll be ready to tackle him again.  My goal is to have both books submitted by the end of January.  Then it’ll be back to Deathright full steam ahead, in conjunction with Seven Crows.

In this snippet, I introduce Mama Connagher, a woman to strike the terror into any daughter in law.  Well, hopefully.  Unedited, first NaNoWriMo (shitty) draft.  This happens after the dark moment when Victor thinks he’s lost it all.

Virginia Connagher waited on the wraparound porch as though she’d known her son was coming home, even though he hadn’t made the hour drive up from Dallas in months.  She wore the same thing she always did:  riding jodhpurs, English riding boots, and a spotless white shirt, even though her hands and knees were dirty from digging in her garden.  Her black hair was sprinkled with a bit more gray, her eyes lined with a few more wrinkles, but her eyes still snapped with the fiery spirit that had captured Tyrell Connagher’s heart forty years ago.

“Hi, Mama.”

“Son.”  She looked him up and down and he couldn’t help but straighten his shoulders and widen his stance.  He braced for her to begin questioning him, but instead, she smiled.  “Come on down to the stables and see the new foals.”

Relieved although he tried not to show it, Victor walked with her down the red-dirt road to the long horse barns behind the house.  She proudly showed off the new stud she’d shipped in from Ireland, the yearlings in the paddock, and bit by bit, he managed to relax.  The smells of sweet hay, feed, and horse were as familiar to him as the two-story farmhouse where he’d grown up.  He’d worked with Mama in the show ring and Daddy in the fields, rounding up the cattle and shipping them to market.  He’d ridden every inch of their acreage, spent hours with Conn down at the creek fishing and swimming, and fixed countless feet of fence with him and Daddy after a storm had knocked a few trees down.

Watching a sleek bay mare with her spindle-legged baby, he felt the last stone of guilt fall away.  Here, he knew exactly who he was.  He was the Victor, the oldest Connagher son, football champion, and proud of his hard-working parents.  Maybe he could convince Shiloh to drive out here with him.  If she saw him here, the real Victor, then maybe…

“I saw your show last night,” Mama said, her voice too careful for him to tell what she’d really thought about it.

He propped a boot up on the bottom rail but didn’t turn to look at her.  “What’d you think?”

“I was wishing your Daddy could watch it with me so we could recreate a few of those challenges ourselves.”

Victor practically choked on his tongue.

Mama chuckled at the look on his face.  “Surely you wondered where you got such an inclination.  Did you think I’d be horrified at my baby boy with a crop in his hand?”

“Yeah, I did,” he admitted sheepishly.  “I guess I should have known better when Conn called me a few years ago for help.”

Nodding, Mama leaned against the fence and turned that steely blue gaze on him.  “He’s not as hard as you.  He never was.”

“Not as mean, neither.”

“Oh, Victor, is that what you think?  That you’re mean?”

I’m one mean sonofabitch, Mama.  I like to hurt people.  Especially the woman I love.

He ground his teeth and averted his gaze.

“I suppose you think I’m mean, then.”

That made him jerk his gaze back to hers.  Just a few inches over five feet tall, she possessed the kind of quiet, commanding presence that made people snap to attention whenever she walked into a room.  No one would claim she was a ravishing beauty, but once someone met her, it was hard to take their eyes off her.

Reluctantly, he had to admit it was the same kind of power he’d always had.  People listened to him.  He never had to raise his voice, and if he did, he scared the shit out of people.  He’d always assumed he’d inherited that top-dog attitude from Daddy.

Thinking back over his childhood, he tried to remember a time when Mama had ever overruled Daddy.  They’d always worked like a team, smooth and well-oiled.  Daddy wasn’t a big talker, but he’d always handled the discipline.  A look from him could strike terror into the most recalcitrant boy’s heart, so he’d never gotten into much trouble beyond the normal boyhood scrapes.  They’d both been there for him, through heartache and disappointments, like when he’d blown his knee and kissed his future goodbye.

They’d seen him at the lowest point of his life.  His dreams turned to shame, his love lost, his victor’s heart broken.

His gaze fell on the old barn in the distance.  Worn gray wood still stood, lost and forgotten amidst the shiny redwood and white picket fences of the newer horse barns.  When his last hope of returning as a pro-quality quarterback had died, he’d retreated to that old barn, too ashamed to come home and face Daddy.  Too heartbroken to risk their pity.

“As soon as I noticed my old crop was missing from the barn, I should have had a talk with you,” Mama whispered, her voice as gentle as the hand she dropped onto his forearm braced on the fence.  “But you’d been through so much already, and you didn’t ask any questions.  I watched, I waited, and you seemed to move on with your life.  When Conn went to you for help, I thought you were settled and comfortable with your needs, but maybe I was wrong.  Maybe I should have talked more openly with you.”

“This isn’t the kind of thing a man wants to discuss with his mother.”

She laughed again, shaking her head.  “You could have asked your Daddy, but he could have only helped you understand the other side.”

That made him whip his head back to her face.  “Daddy was a submissive?”

She snorted.  “There wasn’t a submissive bone in your Daddy’s body.  He never wanted to be conquered or tied up.  He wasn’t into that kind of game and neither was I.”

Dreading her answer, Victor asked, “What were you into?”

“Pain,” she answered simply.  “I used to joke that a bronc rider would have to be a masochist to get back on after getting trampled a few times.”

Victor tried to think of something to say, but he couldn’t.  He couldn’t imagine his weathered father submitting to the sting of a lash, let alone asking for it.  The man had worked from sunup to sundown every day of his life, raised three God-fearing respectful children, and died loving only one woman his entire life.  Victor had always thought him the strongest man in the world, fearless on a horse, even the wildest, rawest green broke mare.  He just couldn’t imagine the same man asking someone–a woman, his wife, no less–to whip him.

“Do you think I liked knowing that I yearned to hurt your Daddy?”  Mama asked sharply, her fingers tightening on his arm.  For a woman, she had a fearsome grip.  He’d always assumed her strength came from a lifetime of training show horses, but now he wasn’t so sure.  “Do you think it made him feel like a man in our day and age?  To lock the door of our bedroom, strip off his shirt, grip the bedpost, and ask me to whip him within an inch of my life?  I had to, son.  He had to.  The need was there, eating away at him constantly.  He needed the pain as much as I needed to give it.”

She turned away, but not before Victor saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.  “He said once that he wished I were a man so my arm didn’t give out quite so quickly.  He’d meant it as a joke, but it hurt, son.  He could have taken much more than I could ever give him.  For years, I worked out with the whip and crop, training my arms and body to make sure I met his need to the best of my ability.  So don’t you look down on yourself, Victor Connagher, or you’re looking down on me and his memory.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone, least of all someone I love,” Victor whispered, hanging his head in shame.

“The young lady on the show?”  Mama asked softly.  He nodded, so she said, “When do I get to meet her?”

“Maybe never.  She left me.”

“I saw the way she looked at you, son.  Even on television, I could see that woman would give her heart and soul just to see you smile.  So why would she leave you?”

“She needs more than I can give.”

“Can, or will?”

He growled deep in his throat and jerked his hair tighter, but the pain didn’t help.  Not this time.  Nothing would ease the raw, aching need burning in his gut.  Nothing but Shiloh.

“It’s got to be difficult for a woman to find the right man when she needs to be hurt.  Women in our society have fought tooth and nail to get to the place where they can demand what they want in bed, but pain is a different beast all together.  It’s not politically correct for a woman to play the submissive, but it’s somehow even more horrible if she needs pain, too.  If someone had dared hurt Ty in a way he wasn’t interested in, he would’ve plowed his fist into the bastard’s face.  What’s your woman supposed to do, son?  Walk up to a stranger and ask him to hurt her?  How’s she going to be able to get him to stop when she’s had enough?”

Rage exploded in Victor at the thought of another man laying a hand–or a whip–on Shiloh.  He wanted to hold her, love her, and yes, hurt her.  Exactly the way she needed it.

“If she needs to be hurt, son, then it’s better done by someone who loves her and cares for her wellbeing than an arrogant fool with a whip who doesn’t give a damn about anything but putting on a show.  Do you love her?”

Victor clenched his jaws and nodded.  God, yes, he loved her.  He hadn’t been able to sleep last night, tormenting himself with the memory of the pleasure she’d given him, mixed with the guilt.  He’d lain there all night, hating himself but rock hard and aching with the need to do it all over again.  All I could think about was how f*cking good it’d felt to hurt her.

“You can’t deny this side of you, son.  You’re only lying to yourself.”  Mama  gripped his upper arms, leaning closer so she could stare up into his eyes.  He might be a foot taller, but she made him feel like a little boy again.  “We didn’t raise you to be a liar or a quitter.  You might have lost a game, but everything’s on the line now.  This is the biggest game of your life.  You’ve searched your whole life for a woman who could love you and accept the pain you need to give.  Are you going to let her get away?”

He smiled, not the nice, gentle smile a son would give his mother, but the grin of a confident conqueror bent on razing his enemy to the ground.  Even–especially–my own stupid hang-ups. “No, ma’am.”

“You go get her, son, and you bring her home this very night.  I want to meet the woman who finally claimed my Victor’s heart.”

“Soon,” he promised, leaning down to kiss her cheek.  “But not tonight.  We have to finish taping the show first.”

“Then you’ll bring her to the ranch?”

“If she’ll come, yes.”

“Remember, give her the pain you both need, son, but hurt her with love and hold her when you’re done.”  Mama smiled back and Victor felt a chill dripping down his spine.  “And don’t worry.  She’ll come, or I’ll fetch her myself.”

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Friday Snippet: #Victor

I’m going to try and keep doing Friday Snippets, but they have to be shorter and may potentially skip around.  In this snippet, Shiloh discovers a large portrait of Victor in the owner’s office at Silken, the BDSM club.  First draft only, etc.

He wore jeans, the pants’ legs tucked into his trademark boots, and a simple light-colored shirt unbuttoned to his waist so it hung open, baring the bulge of his pectorals sprinkled with dark hair.  Long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, giving her a good look at his muscled forearms.  Even from ten feet away, she could see the lines of tendons and veins beneath his skin, the promise of strength and skill with the long crop in his right hand.  Oh, God, his hands, those broad palms, long, graceful fingers, explosive power in every inch—they drew her eyes like magnets.

He stood with his right foot up in a chair, his right elbow braced on his knee, the crop held casually—but prominently—in his hand.  He wore a black hat with a silver band.  An old-fashioned gun belt rode low on his hips with ornate pistols holstered on each side.  In his left hand, he held a coiled lasso.  He was prepared to wrestle a steer into submission, hang a horse rustler…or whip a sub within an inch of her life.

Dark hollows beneath his eyes carved out the harsh planes of his face, giving him a wicked, grim look that made her tummy quiver.  His eyes burned with hunger, an unquenchable need that would never be satisfied.  That look promised harsh punishment, no tenderness, no softness whatsoever.

Why did I ever picture him dressed as an English lord?

If she’d seen this photograph before devising the show, she would have done the whole damned thing as a Western so he could keep his boots.