White Leather and No Regrets

Blurb

Ren Noletta, a bookkeeper, stopped into the costume shop on her lunch hour just to purchase an off-the-rack costume for a Halloween party. It was just an ordinary routine day, in a beige constricted world of her monotonous, predictable life. But that's about to change. What she ends up getting is a hot dressing room encounter with a man--a stranger--who opens up a whole new world to Ren. A world it seems she's eager to embrace.

Ariyel Esmund, rich, sophisticated, English--not just any man. He offers Ren a chance to explore her more submissive erotic nature. But he leaves it in her hands. Call him if she wants to more. And when she picks up her phone to do just that her whole world changes. Ariyel teaches her things, takes her further into his world of white leather and, at each step she find herself without second thoughts, with no regret.

The texture to Ren's world turns richer, and darker when Ariyel introduces Ren to his friend, his dark and mysterious colleague, Creed Bennett. Ren has to wonder what the deeper relationship is between the men. It's intoxicating when she becomes the focus of both. Creed is something far different than Ariyel--and Creed wants her for himself. The rules are set, the bargain made. This is a world that forces Ren to examine her desires, her loves, her very heart and soul. She's caught between the angel and the demon, and soon Ren is taken on a journey where she will explore her submissive desires. Rules are never set in stone, there's always room for negotiation, and boundaries shift far too readily between love and desire, pleasure and pain, as Ren begin her odyssey...without regret...

Excerpt

Ren stepped into the Hornfellow Costume Shop on Hornfellow Drive, just three doors down from the dusty offices for Milligan and Cosgrove Construction where she worked as a bookkeeper, keeping track of every tiny nut, bolt, and screw of the small construction firm. She was searching, somewhat reluctantly, for a costume to wear to a co-worker's costume party and was in the midst of inspecting a black witch's outfit with a critical eye. Jim, one of the construction foremen, a man of unremarkable looks and cocky manner, had asked her to be his date, and having no other plans, she'd agreed. He'd obviously caught her in a weak moment because under other circumstances she never would have agreed. And yet, here she was.

"Not right for you," a very suave and cultured male voice said from behind her, breaking into her morose thoughts. The scent wafting over her was not overpowering; it wasn't the cheap, cloying stuff that Jim wore. This was something else, something divine, something sexual and sensual. It reminded her of strolling along the counters at Saks, knowing she couldn't possibly afford any of the wonderful colognes and perfumes lining the counters, attended by beautiful young women and handsome young men. Passing the men's counters, inhaling deeply and fantasizing about the type of man who wore such sophisticated fragrances. Powerful men. Handsome men. Subtle, just a hint of the forceful charisma bound to such a scent. Careful choices, a man who commanded other men. Seduced sexy, star-quality women. She knew it was just that sort of man who stood behind her in the costume shop.

Without turning around, she held the cheap on-sale black witch's costume up to examine it more closely. His seductive scent wafted over her. She tried to dismiss him, but he wasn't making it easy. She sensed he wasn't the type of man one kicked to the curb without second thought.

"Try it on if you must, and then you'll see I'm right," he said. English, the accent was English. His scent did something to her. It made her wet. So wet she wanted to turn in his direction, like a summons so ancient and primal that she felt weak with the longing.

She fought the instinct, draped the cheap costume over her arm intending to try it on. Knowing he was right; knowing that even if it seemed the right choice when she first looked at it, now it was not. It was inferior, so very inferior. And she didn't want him to see her in a cheap witch's costume.

She almost reached up to the tight mousy brown bun bound so tightly at the nape of her neck to smooth her hair. He made her wish she'd spent more time attending to her makeup before leaving the office for lunch. And then she made what some might consider her first mistake. She turned to face him.

"I don't know you, do I? You think something else might be more appropriate?" She tried to hide her reaction to actually coming face-to-face with him. She'd hoped she would be wrong. That he wouldn't at all match the intriguing scent that was now indelibly stamped into her psyche. Oh, God, the scent, the sound of his voice, all meshed far too well. He was gorgeous, and she felt herself slowly melting into a puddle, like an ice-sculpture turned to water. Dripping, dripping slowly to puddle at his feet with a thoroughness that almost left her breathless.

He cocked his head as he stepped back. Intense green eyes framed with sooty black lashes making the color seem all the more intense, raked over her, studying her minutely. "Yes, I think I know just thing."

He linked her arm through his and guided her across the room. He pulled a simple startlingly white floor-length Athenian styled gown from a rack of exorbitantly priced glamorous colorful and sequined costumes. The dress had to be the most unremarkable costume on the rack. Trimmed in silver braiding, with a silver braided belt, the material appeared very thin and rather illusory to Ren. He guided her farther on to a display of masks. He studied the masks, just as closely as he'd studied her in her brown wool-blend off-the-rack business suit. And while he studied the masks, she studied him.

A well-cut lightweight beige suit set nicely upon his trim figure. Armani perhaps. He was taller than her, likely six feet to her five-ten frame, but not more than that. A solid build beneath the suit, not overly bulked. Gleaming, neatly-trimmed amber-jeweled hair streaked with blond, not salon dyed, but sun-kissed. Yet, one-of-a-kind. A traveler, his business, or pleasure, perhaps taking him to warmer climes--the Mediterranean possibly, or the Riviera. Although he carried himself with a Monte Carlo sophistication and sense of adventure. She could easily envision him in a high-stakes casino game, beautiful women draping him like a cashmere suit jacket. He was clean-shaven; he had nice hands, manicured nails.

"Like what you see?" he suddenly asked without turning to look at her.

She felt herself color at being caught out. He picked up one of the masks from its display. Green jeweled trim, metallic silver Venetian style. The shade of the mask was one that matched the braiding on the dress. He held it up. "Yes, this is the one."

He didn't wait for an answer to his original question of whether she liked what she saw. But the answer was that she definitely did. He took her by the hand and led her over to the dressing rooms. His was a warm hand, not too soft, not too hard. No construction worker here. Big enough, but not too big. The grasp was firm enough to claim the lead. He didn't demand, the grip encouraged her to accompany him. If she'd pulled her hand free, he'd have let her go. It was the type of grip that made a woman feel safe. Maybe even protected. It spoke of self-assurance, but it wasn't egotistical. Ren tried to fight the growing attraction for a man so far out of her league.

"What are you doing? I can't wear this--I can't buy it."

"Let's see how it looks before you decide." He gave her a little push toward the dressing room door. Once she was inside, he whisked away the witch's costume and then hung up the Grecian costume on the hook inside the small cubicle. Then he stepped back and closed the door, leaving her alone inside the room with the daring costume and her own volatile thoughts.

Ren stared at the white dress. The small room felt larger because all four walls were lined with mirrors. It gave her an oddly three-dimensional sensation, like she'd entered some strange and beautiful otherworld, like entering a house of mirrors. She shook her head. She removed the dress from the hanger and held it up in front of her. A small town construction company bookkeeper did not wear dresses like this. Not even for Halloween parties. They certainly didn't wear them for a date with someone like Jim, the construction foreman who had a reputation for being a ladies' man. And yet she found herself removing her jacket, her white blouse, her brown knee-length skirt, leaving her demure cotton bra and panties on. She did remove her suntan shaded pantyhose. But not even for this dress was she going to bare herself completely in front of a stranger. If she bought the dress--and that was a big if, it would require different undergarments, of course. Then she slipped on the gauzy Athenian gown. Exactly as she thought, way too sheer. Her bra and panties were quite visible and a jarring distraction beneath the seductive dress.

"No way," she said. "This is so not me." She began to unzip the back of the dress--at the waist because there was not an actual back to it, just lengths of pleated material that barely managed to cover her breasts, sewn securely at the waist at the back. She was still shaking her head, when the door opened and, much to her surprise, the man stepped inside.

She gasped. "What are you doing?"

"I heard what you said. I never make a mistake. This dress is you. Every bit of you." He swung behind her, turning her face forward to one of the mirrored walls. "Mmm. I see."

Her thoughts scattered with his warm hands upon her, running down over her hips, back up again, cupping her breasts, sliding down her midriff. "How can you possibly get the right effect with all this stuff ruining the lines of the dress?"

Before she could say anything, he had her bra unhooked. He made short work of getting that off her and then straightening the bodice--what little there was of it. Again, she gasped as his hands moved beneath the skirt and he divested her of her panties that now curled around her ankles. He let the skirt fall back into place.

"Do you see what I see?" he asked, forcing her to look in the mirror. "You are a goddess. You're all of them wrapped into one beautiful woman."

What she noticed was that her face was shiny red, suffused with color. As was the rest of her body. She felt her face heat even more when she saw that her erect nipples pushed insistently against the material, so very dark against the sheer whiteness of the fabric.

"This is outrageous," she said. "It's embarrassing. I don't even know you."

"A beauty in the making," he said, his brilliant green eyes boring into her in their reflection. Then the color of his eyes deepened to jade.

As she watched their silvered reflection, his hands molded around her breasts, his long fingers brushed across her nipples. She couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her.

"Persephone, with so many wonderful secret mysteries to be explored." Reaching up, he drew one side of the dress bodice down, exposing her breast. Ren was mesmerized by the sight of his golden-tanned hand against her pale white skin.

"You need more sun." He stroked over her flesh. "But inside you there's a fire waiting to be ignited. No one's ever ignited you, have they--"

She knew what he wanted. "Ren," she said breathlessly. "My name is Ren Noletta."

"Lovely. Ren. The heat beneath your skin, burns me up with your fire. You are Tlazolteotl, a Toltec earth goddess--desire personified. But you're afraid of your power. Release it--show it to me. Give me permission to set you on fire, my Tlazolteotl."

"I-I w-wouldn't--I-I've never." She couldn't finish the thought. All she could do was stare at their reflections. He drew down the opposite side of the dress, exposing her other upthrust breast. She closed her eyes and leaned back against him. Now both of his hands kneaded her breasts.

"Quite exquisite. You have perfect breasts. Open your eyes. See what I see," he said.

She heard the zipper as he drew it down, and the dress slipped to the floor. He leaned down and picked up the silver mask and settled it onto her face. "Maybe you're a queen in your own right. Like Hel. I see you," he whispered. "I see behind the mysteries of the mask you wear. That's why I chose you. Out there."

And then she did open her eyes. But the person in the mirror was no one she recognized. He made her see what he saw. Flushed skin, darkened nipples. Curvy, not so very skinny. Perhaps a bit generous around the hips. But there was something about the woman in the mask. Something different. The woman reflected in the mirror was no ordinary bookkeeper. She was...an exotic goddess.

Ren felt him draw out the pins in her hair and her long mane cascaded down her back. Dense and dark. He kissed her shoulder. The fingers of one hand trailed down her midriff, drifted through the curls dusting her mound, then slipped inside her.

She saw him smile in the mirror; his green eyes glittered. "Lovely and wet. You welcome me. You want this. Flora, a Roman goddess, she is the aroma of nature, the taste of spring. This makes you hot. You like yourself like this, don't you? Now I begin to see her--the goddess awakening inside you."

"Who are you?" But then she lost that train of thought as his fingers slipped in and out, then stroked over her clit.