Love Slave: Passion: Love Slave, #1

By Caitlin Plum, Shannon, Harley Easton and 5 more

This inaugural collection of erotica from LoveSlave.org will tempt you with eleven offerings of pure passion. Encompassing everything from the first ache of desire to the ties between longtime lovers, these stories showcase what happens in the world of love and lust.

Take a trip in "The Jag" with a secretary whose car obsession leads her to a steamy encounter with her boss, or look into the heart of a lovesick man who must admit to his friend of eighteen years "I Have Always Been Yours."

These tales are sometimes sassy, sometimes sweet, but always sexy. Let our talented authors take you through one night stands, adventurous three-ways, and evenings of unadulterated passion.

Dom Exel (Editor), Caitlin Plum (Contributor), Shannon (Contributor), Harley Easton (Contributor), Torrance Sené (Contributor), Fiona Shaw (Contributor), Clara Young (Contributor), Erica Vance (Contributor) , CM Peters (Contributor)

(This anthology includes m/f, m/m/f, and f/f pairings, and does include some BDSM themes.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dom Exel
• Release date: Mar 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310319983

Book preview

Introduction

by Dom Exel

Welcome to an exciting journey down a road called love. The Love Slave: Passion book shares scenarios which highlight commitment and attraction. It's about passion, and passion reflects the love one has for a thing. This book, in particular, sheds light on the passion which is reflected through intimate relationships we encounter. It embraces the many different avenues and vehicles used to express the passion one has. We are all love slaves to something, framed in the passion which renders true expression for that which holds our heart.

The authors published in this book reside all over the world. There are eight writers in all, four of whom post stories weekly at the LoveSlave.org website. We are ecstatic to have the opportunity to share our platform with other erotic authors, and are proud of the effort and product that each of them has produced. These artists reveal true passion by painting vivid pictures which cause one to transcend and take part in imaginations that lead to erotic fulfillment and pleasure.

We all know that acts of love and passion (and sex) are universal. They are a language which all can understand. But love and passion are also ingredients that when heated, possess the ability to rise above principles and practices which are sometimes used to keep us divided and in segregated boxes.

This is the first volume in the Love Slave anthology series. Enjoy!

The Jag

by Caitlin Plum

First, I've always had a thing for British cars. Something about them just really revs my engines, total pun intended. From rough-and-tumble Land Rovers, to wee punk rock Minis, to Bentleys that smelled like tea, and Rolls-Royces that stunk of elite haughtiness. But nothing got me going like a Jaguar. Perhaps it was the fact that my first real sexual experience was in one. Nothing like getting finger-fucked in the back of your first boyfriend's Jag to really set the standard, right? Anyway, there's something about Jaguars that just does it for me. When I see one on the street, it takes my breath away. Especially if it's British racing green. I might as well drop my panties right then and there.

Second, let me tell you about Mr. Shaw. Mr. Shaw is the CEO and owner of the company I work for. He's British—yet another weakness of mine. He's tall and lanky, but muscular. He's pale with black hair and the coldest, but hottest, blue eyes. He also dresses in the most impeccable suits. You can't imagine him in anything else but those damned slim-fitting suits. Since I worked in administration, I would pass him in the hallway a few times a day. I won't lie—there were nights that I was horny and I would think about those crystalline eyes while I took care of business.

One Friday evening, I was asked to stay late and help my boss, Regina, with a project she was working on. Around 8:00, she asked me to head down to the basement garage and pick up some files that were in Mr. Shaw's car. I had no idea what car he had, but I knew where it was parked. Everyone knew where Mr. Shaw's car was parked, because everyone knew not to park there. She gave me the keys and waved a dismissal, and I headed down to the garage. Of course, there were no other cars there so no one else heard me gasp when I saw it.

A Jaguar F-Type R. One of the latest models with a motor that growled like a wildcat during acceleration and had an all-leather interior. In British racing green, of course—how more impeccably British could he be? I stared at it, practically drooling, then walked up tentatively and delicately ran a finger along the hood of the car. Goddamn this was a sexy vehicle. This car was made to take women, men, and the road like a ravenous, sexual beast. I leaned over to look in the window and check out the all-black leather interior. Licking my lips, I said. This car was made for fucking.

Glad you think so.

I spun around and found myself staring right in the bespoke-suited chest of Lachlan Shaw. Looking up I found him smirking down at me, his eyes boring into mine like sharp icicles. Um, hello Mr. Shaw. I'm sorry. Regina sent me down here to get the files out of your car. I have the keys, I hesitantly said, holding them up.

He grabbed them out of my hand, leaning close to me to unlock the door. His breath ghosted across my cheek. So, he said lowly, I see you like my car.

I fidgeted with the collar of my black cardigan sweater. I was extremely nervous all of a sudden. His eyes made my knees weak, not to mention giving me a tight feeling low in my belly. Sort of. I just really like British... cars.

As do I. Call it a slice of home, if you will. He moved away from me a little, allowing me to step out of the way of the door. He opened the door and dipped his chin in a small bow, gesturing for me to get the files sitting on the plush carpeted floor of the car. I bent down and grabbed the files, my face coming close to the leather seats. The first thing I realized was that the car smelled like him: peppermint, leather, and tea. The second thing I realized was that my snug, red pencil skirt was placing my ass right on display for him.

I smiled to myself and wiggled a little bit as I reached for the last file, which had slid a little farther away from me. As I stood up I glanced at his reflection in the window and caught him staring at my ass. When I turned around and brought myself up to my full height, his eyes traveled up my body, resting on my chest and then catching me square in the eye. Miss Adair, is it?

Yes, sir.

Since you have such a preference for cars, would you like to sit in mine? I like showing it off a bit. It's a slightly selfish habit of mine.

Yes! I said, a little too loudly and a little too quickly. He held the door open and gestured for me to sit. I tried to drop in the seat but the knee-length and snugness of the knit skirt made it difficult. I finally decided to slide it up my thighs a bit, allowing me a bit more freedom of movement.

Grinning, I looked up at him, standing in the doorway, eyeing my legs. He spun on his heel and made his way to the other side of the car, opening the door and sliding his lean frame into the driver's seat. Damn, that man looked good sitting there. I licked my lips and looked around the car, nervous as all hell. I tucked the files that I'd been clutching on top of the dashboard. He stared at me the entire time, his eyes so hard. He grinned but it came off as wicked, if not a little predatory.

As he switched the car on, I felt the engine come to life with a roar. The rumble of the seat below me caused me to close my eyes and drop my head back against the seat. Damn, that's a beautiful sound, I mumbled, smiling.

Indeed, Mr. Shaw said, turning his head toward me. That grin slid slowly across his face, and he looked me up and down. I did not know that you had that deep of a love for cars, Miss Adair. One would consider your reaction practically ecstatic.

It's the engine, I replied, opening my eyes and slightly turning my head to meet his. A great car is only as good as what's under the hood.

Well, if you like that sound, listen to this. He placed his hand on my thigh, right at the edge of my skirt, as he revved the engine. The roar of the engine, combined with the heat of his skin on mine, was like a direct switch to my clitoris. I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned with pleasure. I placed my hand over his, lightly pressing it down and drawing our hands up so my skirt rode up even higher on my thighs. When his foot finally left the pedal and the sound died down, I opened my eyes and found him leaning across the console, watching me closely. He licked his lips and I noticed him eyeing my mouth. Miss Adair…

Between the intoxicating scent of Mr. Shaw and the rumble of the Jaguar's engine, I couldn't stop myself. I leaned over and pressed my lips against his. Almost instantly, his hands came up and pulled my face closer. His tongue pressed against my lips, forcing them open and demanding that I meet his kisses with mine. After what seemed like forever, he pulled my face away from his, leaving my lips feeling swollen.

Heh. Miss Adair, I do believe that you are a car fetishist and more than a little forward.

Well, when I'm in a car like this and with a man like you, it's kind of hard not to be.

Really? A man like me, hm? You don't know what you're getting into, he said, fisting his hand in my hair and pulling me toward him. His lips met mine roughly again and I reached up to run my fingers through his dark curls. His tongue slid over mine, like wet hot velvet, and his teeth nipped at my lower lip. I moaned into his mouth and let him take control. His forcefulness was making me even more turned on.

His long fingers