Prologue Jules: I am not that kind of woman. I am married, loved, cared for. I love my husband. I have no right to want more, no right to desire something else, someone else. A desire like that should be forbidden, should not be lived out. But he, Tom, knew. He knew what I wanted, what I craved. He knew what we both wanted from one another. He can give me the pleasure I crave. The kind of pleasure my husband can't give me because he loves me too much. So I submit to the forbidden.
+ + + + +
Tom: I brushed my hand through my hair and adjusted my tie, admitting to myself that I was nervous. I was on time to pick up my date for dinner at the Miller's.
For dinner with Jules.
Finally, a chance to meet her face to face, a chance to shake her hand, hear her talk, listen to her thoughts and opinions.
Maybe once I meet her, my odd obsession with the town's veterinarian's wife would be gone.
Ever since I'd first seen her, running around town doing her grocery shopping, I couldn't get her pointed face and the shape of her body out of my mind. How she'd quietly talked to a friend on the street, her starched blouse tugged in, the sensible skirt hugging her hips. How her breasts had moved beneath her blouse. That ass. Her demure body language.
How she kept her gaze to the ground.
Why I couldn't shake the absolute certainty that she was a submissive.
I was crazy.
If she knew my thoughts, she would be beyond creeped out. But I wasn't going to act on my strange feelings, wasn't going to make her uncomfortable. I'd never touched a woman who wasn't a willing participant. But I would take a good, long, hard look at her.
How she reacted to me.
Her husband was a nice guy, so I'd heard. Well respected, well off. And I had no intentions whatsoever to take his place.
I wasn't looking for a girlfriend, wife or a random fuck with a hot, married woman who walked, talked, dressed like she hadn't been fucked well and good in forever.
No, I was looking for someone special. I was looking for someone to teach, dominate and control. Someone who begged for pain, cruelty and punishment at my hands. Someone who begged for my hard cock down her throat, hands tied, leashed.
I was looking for a willing, eager submissive. And tonight, I'd find out if that someone was Jules.
+ + + + +
Jules: Tom. Such a simple, short name for a man so intriguing, I thought, and closed the door behind our dinner guests. I felt hot, flushed for some reason.
I turned around to my husband, said, "That was an interesting night, wasn't it? That Tom guy...what do you think of him?"
"Well, pleasant enough, very polite," Christopher replied as he cleared up their guest's wine glasses off the dining table. "Is Susan dating him seriously?"
"It's more casual she said."
I watched my husband, as I love to do. His quiet, steady demeanor, the laugh lines around his eyes that never quite smoothed out.
My husband wasn't an intriguing man. I didn't think anyone had ever thought that about him. He was a solid man, with capable hands and a warm heart who was a vet during the day and cooked dinner for his friends and his wife at night.
I loved him to death.
I wondered if it would be weird bringing up Tom again.
"He gave me his card, you know," I said. "Before he left with Susan. Said he was considering selling his house. He lives up on Alder Lane, beautiful property, Susan told me."
"Susan would now, gossip queen that she is," Christopher said with a quick glance. "I saw you two whispering in the kitchen. What was that about?"
I waved my hand. "Just girl talk." I laughed, but uneasiness crept up my spine. "She told me that she's trying to get him more interested in her, but that he's very guarded. She heard that he's into really kinky stuff so she was curious about dating him."
I laughed to cover up how nervous I was. "She told me that she is trying to get him into bed and he resists her attempts. Isn't that funny?"
Christopher paused, catching my gaze. "Kinky stuff?"
"You know, bondage, rough sex. She said he's a dominant, whatever that means." I knew exactly what it meant, and my heart beat in my throat.
"I see," my husband said slowly. "And you were fascinated by that?"
"Not really," I lied. My words hung in the air between us, and suddenly I felt cold and hot at the same time.
"And he gave you his card?"
I nodded. I couldn't shake the words that Susan had whispered in my ear, what she'd said about Tom, about his...sexual pasttimes. "I might give him a call tomorrow to arrange a viewing of the house."
My husband nodded, then made his way upstairs to the bedroom. "I'm beat, honey. You coming too?"
"In a minute, yes," I replied.
I grabbed my wine glass, drained the remainder.
Alone, I gave myself permission to look at Tom's card with his address.
"Call me," he'd said. "Or text. Let's have coffee to discuss if it's a good time to sell." His gaze had lingered, dark, stern, the corners on his mouth slightly upturned, until I couldn't meet his gaze anymore.
He wasn't a tall man, but still taller than me, and he was built like a bull with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. His handshake had been firm, warm, a moment too long.
My face had turned hot. No idea why. He was just a guy looking for a real estate agent, shouldn't feel awkward. Selling houses was my job.
I crumbled up the card in my hand, tossed it aside, and then followed my husband to the bedroom.
Christopher was in bed already, lights were out. I quickly brushed my teeth, undressed and slipped into bed with him. He drew me into his arms and I tried to relax against his chest.
I stared into the dark, my heart beating in my throat. Christopher knew what went on in my head, what I couldn't stop thinking about. But we didn't talk about it, avoiding to address what sometimes hung between us like the cloud that it was.
For our love was sweet and kind and gentle. We didn't fuck, we truly made love. My husband was a selfless lover, skillful with his fingers, his tongue. And I loved everything about him. But after three years of being blissfully married, he knew, he knew that there was a dark side to me, sexually.
He knew that I loved it rough, but that he did not. He knew that I'd once ask him to choke me, just a little bit, but that he simply could not do that to me. That I'd once asked him, after a drunken night out, if he'd tie me up, rough me up. He'd done it, but I had sensed his discomfort and he'd been unable to climax.
The next morning had been tense and awkward and neither him nor me had ever spoken about it again.
"I love you," my husband said and pressed a kiss against my neck. "And I always will, no matter what."
"No matter what?" I repeated, closing my eyes, a feeling in the pit of my stomach as if the floor had given away beneath me.
"Always."
+ + + + +
Tom:
Three days.
Three days until she had texted me, asking for a quick chat over coffee, if I was I still interesting in selling my house.
No, I wasn't.
But fuck, I was interested in her.
But it had taken her three days to text him, damn. I had hoped she wouldn't be able to resist. It had been no accident that her friend Susan had given her some saucy information about me.
I had counted on it.
And after seeing her in her own house, I was even more convinced that she was the girl for me. My new pet to handle, to teach, while giving her exactly what she wanted—a mutual agreement of dominance and submission.
And I wanted her to fully know what I liked, what I was. Not your normal lover, not the man who will cuddle after I come down your throat.
I was the man who will tell her that she's a good girl and then give her what she wanted most. A man who will dominate her, push her, control her, tell her what to do, fuck her hard.
Her master.
+ + + + +
Jules: I took a seat in the coffee shop where Tom had agreed to meet me.
Just real estate talk, I told myself. Just about his house. I couldn't afford the chance to pocket a commission that big.
At least that's what I told myself.
In truth, I had been unable to get Susan's words out of my head. Unable to get his rugged face out of my mind. The dark hair that was cut short and neat. His square hands with long fingers. The way he had almost said nothing at the dinner table but had still felt so present, so domineering of the conversation.
How the other guests had sought out his thoughts. How his voice had sounded—dark and quiet and authoritative.
How he'd looked at me across the table, his eyes seeking mine. A dark gaze I was unable to hold for longer than a second.
How I had the feeling that all of his attention had been on me the whole time until I had all but vibrated with inner tension.
"Hi, Jules," Tom said, sliding on the chair across from me. "I see you brought me brochures?"
"Yes," I said, blood rushing to my face, glad that he was oblivious to my thoughts. "To give you an idea of the current market."
I clutched my marketing material to my chest as if it could protect me from the nervousness that had exploded inside of me after seeing him.
He took it out of my hands, his fingers brushing over my breasts.
"Thanks," he said, seeking my gaze. "But that's not why I came."
I lowered my gaze to escape the intensity of his face and played with the sugar packets in front of me. that I'd made a mistake in meeting him, then registered what he'd said.
I looked up again. "Not why you came? So you've decided against selling you home?"
"You know why I am here."
I shook my head. "Sorry, I think there's been a—"
"If I'd ask you if you prefer the touch of a riding crop or a whip between your legs, what would you say?"
All air went out of me. Did he really just ask me that? I stared at him, noting how incredibly relaxed he seemed. I curled my hands around the edges of the table to ground myself, and rose slowly to my feet.
I wanted to tell him to go to hell, to go fuck himself but all I could was shake my head, my heart beating in my throat.
He rose to his feet, leaned toward my face and whispered in my ear, "You know," he said quietly. "You know what we both want from one another."
"What?" I replied, knowing what he meant but not ready to admit it.
