Fifty Shades of Night: Bedtime Stories

By Inara Stone

These thirteen steamy stories will keep you up past your bedtime. 

The Clinic 
Punish & Reward 
Punish Me, Professor 
Four on the Floor 
Strangers: Photographer 
Strangers: Executive 
Game Day Double Team 
... and more!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inara Stone
• Release date: Jan 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524288402

Book preview

Bedtime Story 1: The Clinic

I ACCELERATE DOWN the highway, hurtling my car toward my ex-husband's house. This is wrong. I shouldn't need him. I know it consciously, but I can't slow down. Desire tightens my lower belly to the point of pain. Even two years after we split, the mere thought of Dane has this instant effect on me.

Why did I leave him? If I can't live for more than a few months without seeing him, why did I ask for a divorce? Anyone who watched us saw only the golden couple, the blessed marriage. With an audience, we feigned a casual ease that made people flock to our house every weekend to savor our perfection. He's the physician CEO of a small but wildly successful medical software company. I'm an account executive who earns ridiculous bonuses when my clients buy more services from my company. Together, we were the ones our friends envied.

But it was too much. The intensity of our secret life swallowed me whole.

As I close in on the Warner Street exit, I stomp on the gas pedal and shoot past the off-ramp. If I can add a few minutes to the drive, maybe I can persuade myself to turn around and go home.

Within ten minutes, though, I'm at Dane's front gate. I punch in the security code on the keypad and wait for the iron gate to crawl open. Maybe it won't open. Maybe he changed the code.

No such luck. The gate admits me. I park in the oval driveway in front of the main house, as if I'm going to walk in like any other guest. As if I didn't live here for three long years. The memories wash over me, making me gasp for air. For a moment, I drown in a boiling mixture of desire and shame.

A knock on my car window jerks me out of the reverie. Dane signals for me to lower the window.

You should have called, Maya, he says. I would have prepared for your visit.

I'm not staying long.

A lazy smile floats across his face. Fair enough. At least have a drink with me.

I grip the wheel and try to force myself to restart the car. But Dane has already opened the door. I slide out, pull my purse strap onto my shoulder, and follow him inside. He hasn't laid a finger on me, but I feel his hands on every square inch of my skin.

The house is in perfect order, as usual. Dane runs his house like he runs his company, with an aloof business demeanor. After I moved out, the warmth evaporated from the walls and tabletops, leaving a sterile living space behind. Even the paintings on the walls convey an extreme sense of order and symmetry. I sit at the end of one of the pure white couches and watch Dane pour drinks behind his black marble bar. Given his preferred external environment, his private passion astounds me.

That one's new, Dane says, gesturing toward a canvas covered in blue and green squares and black vertical bars. An original Townsend.

An original what?

Well, he's relatively unknown now, but trust me when I say he will soon be the darling of the modern art world.

I can't help but to smile. Yes, and we all know how instrumental you are in the art community.

Dane joins me on the couch, leaving only two inches between us, and hands me a tumbler of rum and Diet Coke. Before I even take a sip of my drink, Dane's spell begins working on me. The heat radiating from his body relaxes my tense muscles. The acceptance in his smile eases my shame. The melodic cadence of his voice calms my hyped-up nerves.

Good week at work? he says.

The alcohol has loosened my tongue. I closed two deals. Next quarter will be very nice on my pocketbook.

Sounds like cause for celebration. Any plans?

I thought it would be a good time to burn some vacation days. I'm taking off next week.

The second my voice trails off, I realize my mistake. Dane doesn't need to know I have free time. I set my drink on the glass side table and pick up my purse. He rests his hand on my knee. It feels like a clamp.

Do you have to run away?

I brush his hand aside and stand up.

Good night, Dane. I leave him with a light kiss on his forehead. My lips burn for the rest of the night.

~~~

On Saturday morning, I wake up with the faint taste of rum on my tongue. Dane's voice is still a whisper in my ear, but I shake it away. I need a hard workout and a brunch of fruit and egg-white omelets. I know how to replenish myself. I don't need Dane's rituals.

My Pilates routine loosens the stress of the week. Working from the time I woke up until the time my eyes closed at night meant skipping an entire week of workouts. It's no wonder I ended up at my ex's house last night. My defenses were down. After a half-hour of strength training, though, I already feel restored. By the time I finish my five-mile run, I'm high on endorphins. I stop in the kitchen to chug water, and then jog upstairs to my bedroom.

My phone is blinking to tell me I have voicemail. I ignore it as I dance into the closet, gathering clothes to put on after the shower. After laying a pair of jeans and a shirt out on my bed, I shove them to the side and go back to my closet. I come out with a short red dress and my favorite mile-high red heels. The idea of a vacation is starting to spark ideas. I haven't taken time off in more than four months. I could make plans—real plans—for the week. I hit the shower with visions of clothing boutiques and sidewalk cafes in my head.

The steamy shower feels delicious. Beads and streams of water wash the sweat off first. Then, last week comes off in thin layers, followed by thicker layers of the last four months. My skin is fresh and pink, my heart a little lighter. Without warning, the desire from last night doubles me over. I sit on the shower bench and prop one foot up, my legs open to the shower spray.

My lower lips are firm and slick under my fingers. I try to keep my mind blank as I stroke myself, but as always, Dane's face floats across the back of my eyelids. His mouth closes over mine, and his arms pin mine to my side.

Do you need to be healed, Maya? Do you need me to take care of you? he whispers in my ear.

I nod as my fingers become his and move faster against my hard clit. Heat spreads from my pussy to my fingertips and toes, making them curl as an orgasm quakes through my body. Dane's image fades with the aftershocks. The pressure of his arms against mine does not. On weak legs, I finish my shower, still feeling his presence ten minutes later.

I sit on my bed to towel dry my hair and listen to my voicemail.

First message: Maya, it's Scott. The guys in Legal are telling me they can't review your contracts until the end of next week. We need you to smooth this over with your clients on Monday. I know you're on vacation, but ... I hit 7, already knowing how this message ends. So much for my carefree week of new dresses and mocha lattes. Once I step back into the office on Monday, the long days will start up again.

Second message: It's Rachel. Dane and I have you scheduled for your appointment tonight at 8:00 p.m. Look forward to seeing you, hon.

I put my dress and pumps back in the closet.

~~~

This time, I drive straight to Dane's house with no detours. I don't fight it. I do need his healing. At the gate, I punch in the numbers, and then make my way up the winding driveway past the main house. I pull up to a smaller building near the back of the property. The clinic.

I leave my keys in the ignition for Dane's driver. The heavy wooden door at the front of the building opens a minute later. A woman in scrubs pushes a wheelchair down the ramp to the driver's side door of my car.

Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling? Rachel says as she flips the footrests of the wheelchair out of the way. I lower myself into the chair, and she readjusts the footrests for me.

I'm grateful that Dane has brought Rachel to the clinic for the weekend. She's my favorite nurse. Her thick, blonde hair is swept up in a messy bun. When she smiles, it spreads to her whole, toned body. She radiates empathy and sensuality.

I'm a little tired, Rach. I need this visit, I think.

She nods. Me, too. We'll take good care of you, hon.

You always do.

When we're inside the clinic, I take a deep, antiseptic breath. This is home.

Rachel wheels me through another door into the patient prep room. It is decorated like the dressing room of a high-end boutique, with matching fabric on the windows and overstuffed chairs. While Rachel pulls a hospital gown from an enormous mahogany dresser, I stand up and start unbuttoning my shirt.

I'll do that, she says, brushing my hands away. Her royal blue eyes pierce mine as her fingers work each button. My nipples harden under her touch. Thinking about Rachel and Dane in bed makes me catch my breath. Most people look strange, at best, when they come; Rachel's face looks angelic at the big moment. Seeing that heavenly face eight inches from mine makes my pulse race. Before she reaches my last button, I press my mouth to hers for a quick taste.

I'm so glad you're here, she murmurs against my lips. Without breaking the kiss, she pushes my shirt off my shoulders and lets it drop to the floor. My bra falls next. Then, she unhooks my skirt, and it hits the floor, too. She drapes the hospital gown around my shoulders from the front and ties it in the back. I sit back down in the wheelchair and let Rachel take me into the patient room.

I helped design this room when Dane and I built the clinic five years ago. It is four times the size of a typical hospital room. A fully functional hospital bed sits against the north wall. The typical medical tools hang on the wall above the bed. Next to the bed sits a nightstand with a large tub of water for sponge baths. Plush red washcloths and towels are stacked next to the stainless steel tub.

Rachel, is the bath ready?

She shimmies out of her scrub bottoms and pulls the top over her head to reveal her red lace bra and g-string. Just the right temperature. And I added lavender.

I stretch out facedown on the hospital bed. Rachel unties my gown, and I wriggle out of it. She then pulls my panties inch by inch down my legs to my feet. I hear her dip the washcloth in the water and wring it out. She sweeps my long hair to the side and gingerly rubs my neck with the hot cloth. My body relaxes immediately, leaving me in a state of floating desire. I wish Rachel could come to my house every day and bathe me like this.

She whispers in my ear: How does that feel, sweetie?

Whatever you do, please don't stop.

The aroma of lavender curls around me as Rachel rubs the cloth down my arms. She lingers on my fingers, cleaning each one individually. She kisses my hand before moving to my back.

As she reaches my ass, my pussy swells, an ache building in the folds. Her teasing makes me groan as she circles each cheek and runs the cloth down my legs. I turn my head to watch as she opens a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of massage oil. Her body is unbelievably perfect; I should be bathing and massaging her instead. I'll have to return the favor before this visit is over. I glance at the large, one-way mirror, hoping that Dane is already watching us. He's probably standing nude in front of the window. I picture his cock straining against his hand as he pumps himself in rhythm to Rachel's strokes on my body.

Time for the other side, Rachel says, pulling my attention away from the mirror.

I turn over on the bed, baring myself to Rachel. I left wispy, blonde hair on my mound, choosing not to shave it during my shower earlier. She pets me there for a moment.

Will you shave me? I say.

I'd love to.

At the sink, she fills a smaller tub of water. She takes shaving cream and a new razor from the cabinet.

I need you to spread your legs.

I obey. She sets the supplies on a rolling table and pulls it close. The shaving cream she smoothes over my skin is cold. Her soft touch gives me goosebumps. As she draws the blades over my skin, the gentle tugging makes me giggle. I can't remember the last time I've actually giggled.

After she finishes, she cleans the extra shaving cream off with another washcloth. I take her hand to bring her closer. She leans over and presses her gorgeous lips to mine.

This is Dane's favorite part of the ritual.

While Rachel plunges her tongue into my mouth, she rubs each one of my nipples until they stiffen under her palms. She then slides her hand down to my freshly shaven mound. She draws lazy circles on my lower lips, making them swell even more. My clit pulses, eager for her touch. She's a tease, though. She plays all around the most sensitive part of my body but never actually touches it. I twist under Rachel and moan into her mouth. Just when I think I'm going to explode, Dane walks in.

Ladies, is everything ready for the exam?

Yes, doctor, Rachel says. She slides off me and moves to the head