Cassidy Browning is the pen name of Reggie and Kasi Alexander, writing partners as well as real-life Master and slave. They live the lifestyles that they write about and are passionate about sharing information concerning these relationship dynamics. Their goal is to help educate and dispel common misunderstandings often held by the general public. They live in the Denver, CO area and are active in the local kink community. You can find them on facebook.
In addition to writing, they own and operate a family business making chainmail jewelry and clothing through their company Poly’s Pleasures (www.polyspleasures.com). They can often be found at writing conventions and fetish events around the country and love to talk with their fans.
Today they are featuring their latest book with Siren Publishing.
When Allie Walker inherits her father’s huge, beautiful house on the California coast, she knows it is the chance of a lifetime. Now she can start the bed-and-breakfast she’s always dreamed of—with the help of her boyfriend Brad McCarthy and the sexy, mysterious handyman Karl Masterson. But no sooner do they open for business when mistakes from Allie’s past come back to haunt her and she begins to suspect that her father had his own shocking secrets. Now Allie must reconcile herself with her past, deal with the photographer who seems to want to bring up things she’d rather not talk about, decide what to do about the sexy woman that is showing interest in Brad, and how to deal with the fact that her father was a leader in the local BDSM community. And then there is her growing attraction to Karl and the way of life he represents.
They worked in silence for a while, Allie humming to herself as she put the finishing touches on dinner and Karl washing up after her.
“You’re a messy cook, but a good one,” he said when she popped a small piece of buttered roll into his mouth.
“Thank you.” She giggled again and took another swig of wine. “I’ve been cooking all afternoon.” She frowned at the plates she was pulling from the cupboard. “How many do you think there’ll be?”
Karl took the stack from her. “I don’t think you should be carrying those. How much wine have you had?”
She peered uncertainly into the recyclable bin. “Only one.”
He pointed to the bottle on the counter. “And a half.”
She stared at it as if he had just pulled it out of a top hat along with a rabbit. “A half? Really?”
“Come on, you lush,” he said, opening the silverware drawer for her. “We’ll set the table for four. Jane and Brad should be here any minute.”
Allie remembered Brad saying he wasn’t going to come home. But she had sent him a text that she’d made a special dinner. He couldn’t possibly resist that. It was Brad, after all. He would be reasonable and come home to work everything out.
An hour later, the two of them sat at the table, finishing the third bottle of wine and attempting to have dinner. Karl had convinced Allie to eat, but she wasn’t managing much. Her cheerful mood had deteriorated steadily after several attempts to call Brad and getting only voice mail.
She speared a slice of potato angrily and said, “That rat. They’re probably having sex someplace.” She considered where they might be having sex and what her chances were of finding them and bursting in, but the thought kept turning into a confused threesome fantasy, or somehow a foursome as she imagined Karl coming in behind her. The whole thing melted into a bad porno movie in her head and she shook it, trying to bring herself back to reality.
“That rat Jane or Brad?” Karl didn’t sound completely sober himself, Allie thought in gratitude. She hated being drunk by herself.
“Yes.” She stared at the potato as if it was responsible for Brad’s defection and then put it down again, almost missing the plate.
“I’m sorry, honey.” He didn’t try to convince her that she was wrong, she noticed, or that Brad would change his mind and show up to apologize and have makeup sex with her. He just sounded sympathetic. She tried to smile, but her mouth turned down instead.
“He’s a jerk.” She tried to force her eyes away from her food. It seemed to be almost mocking her, asking her what good it was to cook him a nice dinner when he had a sexpot like Jane offering him something more interesting. Sexpot? Where had that come from? She couldn’t ever remember using the word “sexpot” before. Strange.
Brad was saying something. She looked up foggily. No, it wasn’t Brad. It was Karl. “Huh?”
He repeated it, but she still didn’t really hear. She tilted her head to the side and watched his mouth move. It was a very sexy mouth, with nice full, soft-looking lips. Everything about him was sexy, she thought. He was much more masculine than Brad. His broad shoulders and bulky arms gave him the look of someone who could pick her up without any problem, sling her over his shoulder and carry her off into the bedroom. Maybe he would tie her up, rip her clothes off violently, and take her by force. She shouldn’t be thinking that, she knew, but if he did, it wouldn’t be her fault, would it? She would be a helpless victim. Sure, she would have to call the police afterwards, and that would be a shame. She had a feeling the experience wouldn’t be unpleasant overall. Maybe if he promised never to do it again, she wouldn’t call the police…or if he promised to do it again…or something.
“…coffee?” he said. She shook her head in confusion, trying to pull herself back into the conversation. Whatever she did, she couldn’t let herself keep thinking about Karl and bedrooms and being tied up.
“No, thanks,” she mumbled then focused on him. “Or—I’m sorry. Did you say you want coffee? I’ll get the cake.”
She got to her feet, weaving a little, and suddenly Karl was next to her. She jumped, wondering if he was actually going to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder. But then she realized fuzzily that he was just making sure she wasn’t going to fall down.
“No,” he said, shaking his head and smiling. “We can have the cake for breakfast. I’m going to take you upstairs to bed now.”
A tingle went through her stomach all the way down to her groin. She opened her eyes wide and tried to focus on him to see what he had meant by that. It wasn’t easy to tell. His face seemed to be waving back and forth slightly in front of her.
He laughed at her expression. “Don’t worry, princess. You’re not going to be violated tonight. I’m just going to put you to bed before you pass out in your plate. We can’t have you drown in your potatoes. I’ll take care of the leftovers,” he continued as she made a motion to start clearing the table. “You need to go to sleep before you start crying or do something you’d regret later.”
“Crying?” She peered at him.
“Never mind,” he said hastily, turning her to the stairs. He gave her a swat on the ass to get her moving forward.
“Hey!” She turned and tried to point an accusing finger at him, but it swayed drunkenly, refusing to stay where she’d aimed it. She settled for a glare instead.
“Get moving,” he said. “Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?”
“I can walk,” she assured him, nodding confidently as she turned and concentrated on finding the stairs. She reached for the handrail, but it seemed to evade her. She stumbled, but Karl lunged forward and managed to save her from doing a face plant.
“This is a beautiful staircase, by the way,” she told him as she straightened back up, trying to focus on the wooden banister they had picked out and installed together. She reached out again and managed to connect with it this time. She draped herself partially over it in admiration, stroking it lovingly with one hand.
“My house,” she mumbled softly. “I love my house. Thank you for helping make my house so beautiful.” Tears sprang to her eyes, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. She closed them and rubbed her cheek on the smooth polished wood, smiling dreamily.
“You’re welcome.” Her eyes flew open as she was scooped up and away from the railing. His face came into focus only inches from her own, and she realized he was holding her in his arms and starting upstairs.
“Are you—are you going to…” She knew she should be screaming for help, but much as she tried to want to, she found herself smiling instead.
“Am I going to what?”
“There’s no one to hear if I do, anyway,” she mused, mostly to herself. She had a hazy idea that it would be better if she didn’t resist. Screaming might just make him angry. She peered at him, trying to decide if he was angry or not, hoping he just wanted to rape her. He was certainly capable of it, she thought, feeling the movement of the muscles in his arms as they encircled her. “You’re so strong,” she murmured, then tried to clap a hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t encourage him. The hand landed on her cheek instead, and she pulled it away to give it an indignant look.
He chuckled. “Thank you.”
That was a good sign, she decided. She sighed and her head relaxed against his shoulder. It was actually nice to be carried to bed, even if she was going to be brutally ravaged in a minute. She didn’t really think he wanted to murder her, though. She drifted off into a light doze, debating to herself whether she should call the police in the morning or wait until he had finished painting the barn.
She was aware of being lowered onto the bed. That was odd. Surely if he was going to rape her he would have thrown her down instead and maybe pulled her hands over her head. She’d never been fucked with her hands held or tied over her head. “I hope he does,” she murmured to herself. Not hearing anything, she opened her eyes, expecting to see him standing over her, unzipping his pants and regarding her with an evil leer.
Instead, he was turning the sheets down. He looked at her and asked, “Hope who does what?”
She smiled, her hand starting to reach for his zipper. Then she realized in an indistinct blur what she was doing and managed to stop it, clumsily pretending she’d been trying to help with the blankets.
That was the last thing she remembered.
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