Book Excerpt ~
Chapter 1
Natalie Danvers paused in front of the closed door and straightened her
black leather garters. She always took a deep breath to prepare herself
before she walked bare-assed into Claude Clausen’s office. But all the
preparation in the world couldn’t quiet the electricity that licked the
inside of her thighs.
How could coming here every week turn her on? Just how depraved was she,
anyway?
She stifled a giggle. Not depraved. Deprived was more like it.
Moving to Waterton to take over The Black Rose, her grandmother’s vintage
clothing store, had been the start of a long dry spell, romantically
speaking, with no end in sight.
But she still had sex. Natalie liked sex, liked showing off her body. As
long as she called the shots, she was up for almost anything. Someday she’d
settle down, find a husband and stick to the whole sex-equals-love thing.
But not today.
And probably not tomorrow.
With a grin, she adjusted her old-fashioned mourning hat so the sweeping
black veil brushed the tips of her breasts. She’d found the hat in her
grandmother’s trunk when she was eleven and knew she’d cherish it forever.
Her black silk corset, on the other hand, had cost a fortune at Victoria’s
Secret. But the corset was an investment, she reminded herself, and way
cheaper than a month’s rent for The Black Rose.
The old-fashioned whalebones cinched in her waist and flattened her
stomach. They pushed her double D-cup breasts up and out, until her nipples
jiggled with every breath. Between the black lace edging of the corset and
the top of her fishnet stockings, her plump thighs gleamed like
well-polished mother-of-pearl. She felt sleek and smooth in the corset,
empowered by the stiff stays that forced her to square her shoulders and
lift her chin.
More to the point, her landlord, Claude Clausen, liked the corset, too.
When Granny died six months ago, Natalie’s lawyer had urged her to sell
The Black Rose. But the lawyer didn’t know what the shop meant to her. The
little store, bursting with vintage clothes, and the small apartment
upstairs were more than Natalie’s home, more than her business. The Black
Rose was her life, her inheritance, her future. She wasn’t going to lose it
without a fight.
So she’d better get back to business!
Natalie knocked briskly, turned her key in the lock and pushed open the
door.
As always, Claude sat behind his massive desk in neatly pressed khakis,
hands folded, waiting for her with a stern smile on his face. He had been a
drill sergeant in the Marines for thirty years and believed in discipline.
Discipline--as in corporal punishment.
Her stomach churned. I knew what I was getting into, she reminded
herself. No one forced me. She shut the door behind her. The lock clicked
into place.
Taking another deep breath, she glanced around the office as if she’d
never seen it before. Claude was easily the richest man in Waterton, yet his
office was ugly as sin. His desk was a steel monstrosity from the fifties,
the drawers of his file cabinets dented, the brown linoleum floor scarred
and stained except for a patch of purple shag carpeting in front of the
desk. A thick cigar smoldered in a glass ashtray and polluted the already
stale air.
What was the point of having all that money if you didn’t enjoy it? When
her hard work paid off and The Black Rose was a thriving business, Natalie
would fill her life with Tiffany lamps and Hitchcock chairs and rich
Oriental rugs.
And maybe a couple of bronzed hunks in leopard loincloths.
“Atten-hup!” Claude’s harsh voice grated against her ears. “About face.”
Natalie hurried to obey. She arranged herself in front of his desk on the
scrap of purple carpet, her hands clasped behind her back at parade rest,
her eyes on the floor, pretending to be the picture of pouting innocence.
“Eyes right!” Claude barked from his high-backed chair. Natalie shivered
with anticipation and chewed her lower lip. She risked a glance at him
through her veil. He was staring at her black satin skirt, which ended a
good eight inches above her knees. Her four-inch slut heels raised Natalie
so her crotch was right at eye level as Claude leaned back in his chair. He
licked his lips like a starving dog eyeing a choice cut of meat. Electricity
leapt in the pit of her stomach.
“Present arms!”
They’d agreed that command meant she was supposed to take off her hat and
skirt. As she undressed, she could hardly breathe. She tried to concentrate
on folding the skirt neatly, but the tingle running back and forth from her
pussy to her breasts made her heart thump.
As soon as she was exposed from the waist down, Claude slowly stood and
stuck the cigar in his mouth. He rolled up the sleeves of his khaki shirt,
exposing a Devil Dog tattoo on his biceps, then opened his top desk drawer
and drew out a small riding crop. Chewing on his cigar, he walked behind
her. “Inspect-shun.”
Natalie stiffened.
He fingered her folded skirt, deliberately rubbing cigar ash into it
before he turned to face her. “Dereliction of duty,” he barked.
“Bend over!” He set his cigar in the ashtray again and picked up the
riding crop.
Now his voice was a hoarse growl, as if he could barely control his lust.
She wanted to giggle; his fantasy was, well, so silly, but if he’d rather
live out his fantasy than collect the rent, that was fine with her. She
grabbed the edge of his desk with both hands and bent forward, waiting.
She’d checked herself in the mirror when she finished dressing this
afternoon, so she knew what he saw: two smooth, round, white butt cheeks
framed by thin black suspenders. Black fishnet stockings topped with a
two-inch border of lace that stroked her thighs with every step. She never
wore panties to his office, and as Claude kneeled on the purple rug behind
her, she was sure he could glimpse wisps of dark curls between her legs.
He placed his hands on the backs of her knees and pushed them apart,
forcing her to stand with her legs spread wide. Now he could see her pubic
hair for sure. She shivered as he suddenly reached up and stroked between
her thighs, pulling on the thick brown curls.
She was sopping wet and he knew it.
Natalie hated for him to discover her weekly visits to his office turned
her on. She wanted to keep their encounters as impersonal as possible. Just
pay the darn rent and get out. But she couldn’t help becoming aroused. It
had been so long!
She’d been a virgin far longer than any of her girlfriends, certain,
despite her hourglass shape, no man would look twice at her size-sixteen
figure. She’d met her first real boyfriend when she was working at a nursing
home. One day, as they picnicked by the river, he’d said she was as round
and full and delicious as a peach. She’d laughed and he’d smacked his lips
before diving into her as if she were indeed a piece of ripe fruit, slurping
until her sweet juices ran down his chin.
That was the day she’d learned what her body could do to a man--and how
much she enjoyed sex herself. It’d been the best lesson of her life.
Now she heard a grunt as Claude stroked her ass. She arched her back and
peeked shyly over her shoulder. “Sir,” she whispered in a little girl voice.
“Please, sir. Don’t hurt me, sir.” She felt ridiculous pretending to scared
when she stood at least four inches taller than Claude and outweighed him by
thirty pounds. But that was part of the game, too.
“Quiet, soldier! Stick out your butt.”
Natalie complied, lowering herself on her forearms until her chin almost
touched the icy top of his desk. Her breasts burst free of the corset. Her
nipples quivered. She was intensely aware of her naked ass as the cold air
tickled her butt. She braced herself.
The first touch of Claude’s suede riding crop felt almost like a lover’s
caress. He rubbed the buttery-soft leather up and down her back until her
skin tingled. She closed her eyes and began to purr.
The stroking stopped, and almost before she heard it swish through the
air, Claude smacked the riding crop against her naked ass. For a second, it
hurt like heck. Then she felt a flash of pure pleasure.
Claude had told her what he wanted to see when he whipped her, so Natalie
braced her forearms on the desk and cupped her deliciously full breasts. She
stroked her nipples with her thumbs, then pushed her breasts up so she could
lick them, one at a time. With every slap of the soft suede, her love juices
gushed down her legs. She could smell herself, as hot and salty as a
tropical sea. God! She was ready to come.
Too soon, Claude dropped the riding crop. It clattered against the
linoleum and spun against one leg of the desk. She twisted her waist until
she could watch him kneel behind her, his face close to the triangle between
her butt and her pussy. His hot breath clung to the back of her thighs.
His tongue darted into her butt crack and out again like a hummingbird
tasting a luscious flower. Still kneeling, he undid his zipper and pulled
his dick out. She had never seen it erect before. Something had changed.
The purple head throbbed. Claude stood and rubbed his penis between her
butt cheeks.
“Hey! Wait a minute. No penetration.” Natalie tried to turn around, but
Claude grabbed the nape of her neck and shoved until her chin hit the top of
his desk.
“Spread ’em, soldier!”
“I’m not a soldier.”
He ignored her protests as he held her against the desk with one arm and
rubbed his penis between her thighs with the other. The tip of his cock
prodded her slippery pussy.
“Stop!” She didn’t want to hurt the old guy, and she certainly could, but
penetration wasn’t part of the deal. Neither was rape.
He clamped his hand over her mouth and Natalie gagged on the smell of
stale cigars. His penis bumped against her, even harder than before. What
was going on? The first day, he’d told her his heart medicine made him
impotent, but suddenly he was acting like a stud half his age. Had he
stopped taking his pills?
Game’s over. Natalie flexed her biceps and pushed off the desk. The back
of her head slammed into his chin. Claude grunted. His grip loosened and she
wrenched away.
Someone knocked on the door. A man’s voice called out, “Mr. Clausen? I
need to talk to you.”
She and Claude stared at each other, motionless. The man knocked again
and rattled the doorknob. “Mr. Clausen? Are you okay?”
Claude swore under his breath as his cock wilted. “Just a minute,” he
yelled. He grabbed Natalie’s arm and pulled her across the room. She didn’t
resist. He yanked open the door to his closet and pushed her inside. He
threw the mourning hat after her and tried to slam the door shut, but the
edge of a trench coat caught in the opening and kept it from closing
completely.
Natalie leaned close to the crack and watched Claude hastily zip his fly
and buckle his belt. She was pleased to see that his penis had shriveled up
until it wasn’t much bigger than her thumb. Served him right! If she didn’t
owe him so much money, she’d march out of his office right now and never
return.
She felt for her hat and carefully put it on a shelf above the coats
where it couldn’t be damaged. The musty smell of mothballs tickled the back
of her throat. A leather jacket caressed her naked skin and sent shivers up
and down her spine. Darn Claude anyway. In spite of everything, she was
still turned on.
Claude unlocked and opened the door to his office. “Ah, Luke. Come in.”
She stifled a giggle as she watched Claude hesitate before he shook hands
with the young man standing in the doorway. Was he worried his fingers
smelled like her pussy?
“What’d you think of the space?” Claude asked.
The man called Luke stepped across the threshold and Natalie got her
first good look at him. His eyes made her catch her breath. Dazzlingly deep,
intensely blue, set in a darkly tanned face, they sparkled like reflections
from a tropical lagoon. Mesmerized, she barely noticed his square jaw and
full lips.
“I took a quick look around the vintage clothing store and the little
apartment upstairs,” Luke said. “The building will be a great location for
my new office.”
Luke handed Claude a set of keys and Natalie gasped, outraged. Claude had
let this stranger paw through her personal possessions.
That jerk!
“Interesting business, vintage clothing,” Luke continued. “Beautiful
window display. Are you sure the present tenant wants to move out?”
What was going on? If she lost her business, she’d be destitute. Claude
knew that. What game was he playing now? She yanked the trench coat from its
hanger, pulled it around her shoulders without buttoning it and stormed out
of the closet.
“Who the heck do you think you are, Claude Clausen? You can’t let
strangers into my shop!” She poked his chest with every word.
Before he could answer, she whirled around to face Luke. She might have
been willing to forgive him, he was so very gorgeous after all, but he
grinned as if she was some silly little girl.
“And as for you, Luke whoever you are,” she said, every word clear and
distinct, “that shop is mine. I won’t let you take it away from me.”
To her surprise, Luke just chuckled. She watched his gaze travel the
length of her body. She followed his glance and discovered to her horror
that the trench coat had come open below her waist. His eyes lingered on the
garter straps that held up her fishnet stockings, he whistled softly at her
high-heeled black leather shoes, but most of all he stared at the bushy
triangle between her legs.
Natalie wanted to melt into the floor and disappear from sight. She
wanted to shout, I’m not a whore, but somehow her voice had disappeared. She
yanked the coat shut, tripped over the scrap of purple shag carpet and fell
against Luke, all one hundred and eighty pounds of her.
But she didn’t knock him over. Instead he grabbed her with incredibly
strong arms and held her steady until she regained her balance. In her
heels, she was almost as tall as he was.
A flush rose from her chest until it covered her cheeks in a hot blush.
She stepped back, lifted her chin and tried to regain her dignity. “Thank
you, Mr--?”
“Pennington. Luke Pennington.” He reached for her hand. With a smile he
put her fingers to his lips.
He was mocking her again. Darn him. She jerked her hand away and turned
on her heel. The sooner she was out of Claude’s office, the better.
“Miss?”
Natalie turned around. Luke had walked over to Claude’s desk. He picked
up her satin skirt. It dangled like a tiny rag between his fingers. “Is this
yours?”
“Yes.” Face burning, she marched back. She knew what he must be
thinking--she was some cheap trick Claude had picked up for a quickie.
He would never understand why she was here, why she dressed like this. He
acted like a spoiled rich kid who’d never worked a day in his life. He
couldn’t know what her little shop meant to her or why she’d do anything to
save it.
Natalie grabbed her skirt. Their hands touched and her fingers burned as
hot as her cheeks. She stumbled out of Claude’s office without looking back.
In the hallway, she slammed the door behind her and collapsed against the
wall.
This was, unequivocally, the worst moment of her life.
Amazon
Rose, Book I of the Black Rose Erotic Mysteries
A
queen-sized gal who grew up in the Midwest and moved to the coast with my
flock of lovebirds, I’m willing to try anything once—from skydiving to
spelunking to you name it. I love to write about big women with big dreams
and the courage to make them come true. 