In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial)

By Erika Masten

From Bestselling Erotic Romance and Erotica Author Erika Masten
The Sixth Title In An Eight-Part Erotic Romance Serial

In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial)
A Domination and Submission Romance

When Chloe Bloom left the Brazilian island paradise of Ilha de Flor and her billionaire Dom and lover, Adrian Knight, she thought she was returning forever to her controlled, sedate life as an up and coming junior partner at the premier environmental law firm on the East Coast. But that firm is exactly what Adrian needs to defend himself from a pending indictment designed to ruin him and pry ownership of the island from his grasp. Facing Adrian again in a harsh winter metropolis far from their tropical haven, Chloe struggles to master the tumultuous emotional fallout the man seems destined to leave in his wake, even as he draws her reluctantly back into his bed. She’ll have to decide if she’s fighting with him or fighting for him and exactly how much she’s willing to risk for Adrian and everyone waiting back on Ilha de Flor.

Length: 16,500 words

Bonus Material: Includes excerpts from domination erotica shorts Domination Sex: Conditioned Response and Room Service: Dominated #3 by Erika Masten.

Warning: This is a domination and submission romance containing explicit sexual content, including elements of light bondage. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

His (A Billionaire Domination Serial)
At His Whim: His #1
In His Service: His #2
At His Mercy: His #3
Under His Sway: His #4
In His Grip: His #5
In His Wake: His #6
For His Sake: His #7
In His World: His #8

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Masten
• Release date: Jan 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301492381

Erika Masten

I'm the girl next door with an unexpected wicked streak (and an addiction to sexy high heels). I love turning forbidden desires and secret fantasies into erotic tales with literary flare and a dirty mouth. Let me tell you a naughty story...

Book preview

IN HIS WAKE: HIS #6

(A BILLIONAIRE DOMINATION SERIAL)

by

Erika Masten

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2012 Erika Masten

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Erika Masten

[e-mail]

http://erikamasten.com

http://erikamasten.blogspot.com

Published by Sticky Sweet Books. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental.

Warning: Explicit content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted herein are 18 years or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

This is a work of erotic fantasy. In real life, please protect yourself and your lover by always practicing safe sex.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

In His Wake: His #6

Excerpt From

Domination Sex: Conditioned Response

Excerpt From

Room Service: Dominated #3

IN HIS WAKE: HIS #6

There was no leaving Adrian Knight.

Physically, perhaps, but not emotionally. The discontent, the sense of debilitating disequilibrium that overtook me in the absence of the comforting routine I’d fallen into as Knight’s sexual submissive, interrupted the rhythm of my thoughts and my breath as I hurried from meeting to meeting, back at work at the environmental law firm where I was supposed to be the most promising of the junior partners. It manifested as a clumsy catch of my designer heels along the sink-down carpet, a wince at the constant burble of digital ringtones in a busy office, a nagging dissatisfaction with every detail of my surroundings.

It was a creeping panic.

A month on, I was barely sleeping, hardly eating, and still swinging wildly between sobbing into my pillow at night at the thought of Adrian and punching it with the force of thirty years of pent up outrage.

For the first time, I found the earthy smell of leather and aged paper from the extensive reference collection in the bookshelves lining two walls of my much-envied corner office almost intolerably oppressive. The stifling atmosphere had me short of breath, with a heavy weight mounting little by little in the middle of my chest. It irritated me like a scratching along the inside of my skull, the inside of my skin, that the pristine sets of law books were all the same colors and size with identical, pretentious gold stripes along their flawless cobalt blue or ruby red binding.

I longed for the irregular outline and mismatched covers of the used books that had shared shelf space with my mother’s record collection in the corner of the living room in our shabby little apartment, when it had been just the two of us. Before I’d gone off to college to better myself, to ascend the career ladder and climb above my station. To earn the money and respect and position I believed, not entirely consciously, would insulate me from the hardship and rejection that had characterized my childhood. The thought of dog-eared, thrift store paperbacks, in no way uniform, had me waxing nostalgic for the late nights when my mother would cuddle up on the secondhand sofa to read to her little Chloeblossom while Beethoven or Bach or Pachelbel played low and distant on the radio from the gloomy recesses of the dimly lit room.

This morning, my high sheen, dark wood office was quiet and still with my own inactivity and inattention. I was ten floors up, far removed from the chaos of the traffic and bustling crowds on the street below me.

Below me…

I snickered at myself and rose from behind my oversized desk to gaze out at the moody April skyline. My Italian-label dress, all white poplin and pintucks for the bodice, feathery soft gray cashmere for the sleeves and fitted skirt, couldn’t keep me nearly warm enough as I stared at the bruised sky and hard-angled buildings. The scurry of tiny figures in their dark overcoats trailing along the barren sidewalks stirred a deep sense of anxiety and isolation. I couldn’t help focusing on the lack of clear blue sky, the loss of pale yellow sand, the wistful memory of samba music thrumming along the length of my spine. The unwieldy knot of my upswept brown hair, a questionable attempt at a prim style that seemed so unnatural now, made my head ache and my scalp bristle as I fussed with the coils and counted all the ways this city was not—could never be—the pristine Brazilian island of Ilha de Flor. Adrian’s tropical haven, with the long, low villa that had been our private retreat.

Below me…

What was I thinking? There was nothing below me. I was a little tenement rat at the core. The daughter of a low-rent Casanova and the kind of woman they wrote self-help books to rescue