Journey from Seduction to Submission

By P. A. Loder

MARILEE REESE sits in an airport, anxiously waiting to board the plane that will finally take her from an abusive partner and reunite her with her family.

JASON WOODS is a psychiatrist, Master Dominant and co-owner of Paradise Isles, returning home from a medical conference.

Their mutual attraction is immediate and undeniable.

As their relationship begins to take flight, Jason realizes her inexperience, naivety and history of abuse are hurtles they must overcome. He chooses to go slowly in an attempt to correct her misconceptions of the world of BDSM and show her that the lifestyle is something to be embraced, not feared.

Will her misconceptions prevent her from embarking on a sexual odyssey and journey of self-discovery into the steamy and sensual world of BDSM that Jason offers? Or, will the reappearance of Jason’s beautiful, experienced and obsessed former submissive change the course of both their lives?

Enter the dark and dangerously sexy DR. MICHAEL LEARNER—he too is a Master Dominant, Jason’s friend and co-owner of Paradise Isles. Michael would like nothing better than to pick up the pieces and comfort Marilee into submission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496907080

P. A. Loder

P. A. Loder is a RN living in Florida with her husband of 33 years. They are members of an area BDSM club. She was born in the small steel town of Coatesville, Pennsylvania and she loves cheesesteaks. As a domestic violence survivor, she has always found solace and healing while getting lost in a good book. Her hope is to provide the perfect fantasy where others can get lost. The process of writing this book has been a healing experience as well as a labor of love. She is grateful for the wonderful people she has met on her journey. When asked about her favorite line in the books, she smiled and simply said: “You can ask me anything.”

Book preview

Prologue

Jason wanders through the main room of Paradise Isles. He glances at the oval shaped bar remembering the argument the placement of the bar had caused when he and Michael were designing the floor plan. He’d wanted the bar placed strategically in the center of the main room to give the seating areas and the outlying play areas easy access. More importantly, the placement of the bar gives the bartender a direct line of vision to monitor the surrounding play areas. The only exceptions are the private scene rooms in the back. The scene rooms are too far from the bartender’s view and require a separate dungeon monitor. Michael had wanted the bar located off in a corner, out of the way. Michael had relented, but not without a fight.

When he and Michael were in med school, he had introduced Michael to the lifestyle and they’ve both been perfecting their skills for twenty years—both are Masters. Two other members of the club are Masters, but Markus and Steven have only been members for ten years.

He and Michael have both worked diligently from the beginning to make Paradise Isles one of the most elite BDSM clubs on the East Coast. The club began as a vision when they were just getting started in the lifestyle. They’ve shared a sense of pride as the club has grown and evolved over the years. Both have strived to obtain the best equipment, offer an elegant setting and a safe place to play for both the Dominants and the submissives.

They both share a deep sense of responsibility for the safety of the submissives. It must be a priority for all the club’s Dominants, no matter what scene is being played out. His mentor had stressed submissives’ safety above all else. They are a gift and their submission is a gift to be protected. As a Master Dominant it’s ultimately his responsibility and it’s a responsibility he and Michael take very seriously. Submissives’ safety is stressed to each of the club’s members. The club’s dungeon monitors understand this and are vigilant.

Man, you’ve been in a major funk for weeks now. What the hell’s wrong with you? Michael asks from behind the bar.

Funk? Jason shakes his head. I haven’t heard that term since high school—no, I’m sure it was grade school.

That does not answer my question. Are you being evasive Master Jason?

I was thinking about the medical convention in Philly.

Michael shakes his head. Deception Master? Deception is a major rule infraction, one which has given quite a few submissives a pretty pink bottom.

Jason shakes his head and smirks. From the beginning of their friendship, Michael has been able to read him like a book—it has a tendency to become irritating at times.

"I guess it’s a good thing I’m the Master and not the submissive. I don’t know why I’m in this funk as you call it. Nothing seems to pique my interest lately. Perhaps I’m in the throes of a mid-life crisis and I need to run out and buy a Harley or something."

Maybe you should take a more active role in the submissive trainees. You haven’t taken a regular little sub in a long time. Markus and Steven have both agreed the new little submissives appear to be an excellent group of hopefuls.

I can’t this week. I have an important, albeit very boring, convention in the City of Brotherly Love. I’m sure Markus and Steven can handle the new submissives’ training.

The City of Brotherly Love? I prefer sisterly love, but to each his own, Michael smirks and shrugs his shoulders.

Jason shakes his head and gestures in Michael’s general direction with his middle finger.

The new little subs think I’m number one, too. Michael’s smirk widens.

Jason walks towards the corridor at the back of the building that houses the private scene rooms. When he reaches the first door on the left, he punches in his code and climbs the stairs to his second floor apartment. Michael’s gaze follows his friend, a frown on his face.

Jason grabs a beer from the refrigerator. He passes through the sliders on the far wall of the living area and takes a seat on the balcony overlooking the Manatee River. He gazes at the view, entranced as always by the calming effect of the flickering lights reflecting off the water from the Bradenton side of the river.

His thoughts drift back to Michael. The two of them have always enjoyed being a part of the lifestyle. They both have found gratification and pleasure in the control and in the Dominant/submissive exchange of power. The trust in the little sub’s eyes at the moment she totally submits, without hesitation and without fear has brought him immense pleasure. There is such a sense of joy and satisfaction in watching her, listening to her, reading her and inevitably providing her what she needs.

From the beginning of his training as a Dominant, his ability to understand what a submissive needs has just come naturally. This ability to read the little ones so well had surprised his mentor. He had told Jason many times that he’s been blessed with a special gift—sometimes the ability to read them well took years—sometimes Dominants never acquired the ability.

With the right little sub, it’s all about her pleasure and her pleasure has brought him so much pleasure. Watching and listening as he brings a little sub to the brink of orgasm is quite fulfilling.

He smiles—sometimes he would allow them to come quickly. However, for the most part, he would teasingly bring them to the brink of an orgasm and then pull back. Thereby, denying the little submissive the ultimate pleasure of an orgasm until they reached their limit and begged for release. Through his years of experience, he has found orgasm denial could greatly intensify a submissive’s orgasmic experience. He so enjoys watching the little subs, hearing the delicious sounds they make as they build towards and finally achieve the ultimate pleasure.

He especially likes what he terms the cuddle. Most Dominants call it aftercare, but he calls it as he sees it. It’s a wonderful excuse to hold them close and watch as they recover from a scene. One can literally feel a submissive’s body relax as she descends from an orgasmic high. The entire experience has been so satisfying. Never in all these years as a Dominant has he ever doubted that he was meant to be a part of this lifestyle—until recently. His interests appear to have vanished.

Lately, he’s found himself second guessing many of the choices he’s made throughout his life. Quite a few seniors in the nursing home are now facing end-of-life decisions. Most are alone now, but at least the majority of them have not been alone their entire life.

He’s been alone through most of his life. He’s never had a wife or children and only a handful of relationships he’d considered long term—the longest of which lasting less than a year. There’s never been anyone he’s become involved with deeply enough to want it to be forever.

Shaking his head and leaning back, he closes his eyes. Perhaps he’s getting too old for this shit. The subs are sweet, pretty, submissive and trusting, but none have piqued his interest. This has been weighing on his mind and now has him wondering if perhaps it’s time to move on to something or someplace else—but what—where?

Chapter 1

The front door closes quietly. I sit up in bed and pick up my cell phone from the night table.

Hello, he answers in that familiar deep voice.

David, he’s just left for work. Can you come over now?

I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Okay, thanks.

I run to the bathroom and then dress quickly. My hands are shaking and my head is pounding from the building tension and anxiety.

Walking to the window facing the front of the apartment complex, I scan the parking lot for David’s car. The anxiety is building as each minute ticks by—way too slowly. I take deep cleansing breaths in an attempt to calm myself.

I sigh, relieved when David’s car pulls into the space below the front window of our second floor apartment. I scan the parking lot again, close my eyes and say a prayer. Please don’t let him come back until after I’m gone.

His routine is almost always the same. He begins his day with a stop at a convenience store for his morning coffee. Sometimes, if we’d had a particularly bad night, his routine would vary. He would stop back home, bringing me a cup of coffee as a peace offering. Of course, he would then remind me that if I hadn’t been so stupid, he wouldn’t have been forced to take action. I’m hoping and praying he doesn’t decide to bring coffee back today.

David exits his car, opens the trunk and stands with his arms crossed, his head moving side to side as he too scans the parking lot. He’s a big man and with his arms crossed, he reminds me of Mr. Clean—I smile.

Quickly, I pull the two suitcases as well as my purse from under the bed. I leave the apartment, and with just a touch of trepidation, this part of my life behind.

51288.png

As I stand in an airport newsstand scanning the magazines, I realize I should have packed a magazine in my carry-on. It’s hard to believe the choices are so limited. The only options appear to be sports, gossip or cooking magazines. I enjoy cooking but a cooking magazine is not going to begin to alleviate the panic that always grips me during a flight—I hate flying. It terrifies me. I would have preferred to have driven my car, but the title is in his name. I have no doubt he would have had me arrested somewhere along the way for grand theft auto.

My eyes shift to the display of books to the right of the magazine stand. I know nothing about any of these books except… there’s the sex book that has everyone talking. I shake my head. I can’t, for the life of me figure out why a sex book would cause such a commotion. Where could the excitement be? It holds as much interest for me as another functional anatomy book and I’ve studied enough of those to last a lifetime.

Glancing at the other options, I finally decide—the sex book is better than nothing. At the very least, I’ll now know what the fuss is about. And there is an even greater benefit—I’ll be able to keep up with conversations.

I can’t count how many times over the last few months I’d been caught unawares thinking friends and coworkers were talking about real people. How embarrassing! They looked at me as though I’d grown another head. I roll my eyes heavenward. No one I know is talking about anything except this book. I wonder idly if it’s a comedy, a tragedy or just a bad joke. I smile as I envision those funny little smiling and frowning Mardi gras masks.

It feels good to smile—I haven’t had very much to smile about during these last few weeks. Okay, I scold myself, enough unhappy, self-pitying crap. I suppose the book will be worth every cent if it will just hold my interest long enough to keep me from having a damned panic attack.

Oh hell Marilee, just buy the damned thing.

I walk to the checkout and pull my credit card from my carry-on. I roll my eyes, still unable to believe I’m buying this book.

51286.png

Jason stands in the airport newsstand unable to bring himself to turn away. She’d caught his attention the moment he saw her. His gaze jumps to the newspaper in his hand, and he turns away slightly in an attempt to hide his amused smile. Why are you looking at that particular book, baby? Why so much interest in BDSM? Shaking his head, his smile widens as he thinks about how much he would enjoy providing her with an introduction to BDSM. His interest is definitely piqued and for some inexplicable reason, simply gazing at her brings him pleasure. She would look beautiful cuffed to his bed begging to be allowed to come. The vision is making him hard. There’s not been anyone in his bed in a long time.

She’s beautiful—small, but not too small—not a stick figure. The club has plenty of stick figure submissives. He could choose any of them, but his opinion has remained the same—just never enough woman to hold. He’s always been afraid they’ll break like a china doll. This woman would be soft, warm and pleasurable to cuddle—he wouldn’t have to worry about breaking her with his hugs. The big hugs when he cuddles have always been the perfect end to a perfect scene.

She’s everything he finds physically desirable in a woman. A beautiful sweet face, full breasts, a small waist and a very nice, perfectly round ass… his favorite—nice round asses. Her eyes are hazel, reminding him of Michael’s eyes. Blonde steaks highlight her light brown hair and it’s long, falling midway down her back. He nods in approval. He prefers long hair. There’s a sweet innocence about her. Not really naïve but more honest and open. She’s young, appearing to be only in her mid twenties—which might present a problem.

There are many submissives at the club, a good many of whom are in their mid twenties but they’re familiar with the lifestyle. They’re not newbies. He would love nothing better than to see that submissive’s trust in those eyes. But would she be able to trust him? Now, as he stands closer to her, the cut on her cheek and the black eye her makeup doesn’t quite cover are all too obvious. Was she abused? Both hands fist instinctively. He has never understood why men find it acceptable to abuse a woman.

With the newspaper in hand, he wanders behind her as she walks to the counter to purchase her book. She pulls her credit card from her carry-on and he quickly glances over her shoulder, hoping to catch her name.

He’s surprised and mystified by the sudden and unexpected surge of pleasure shooting through him when she ignores the clumsy attempts at flirting from the boy behind the counter. The boy passes her credit card back to her and he notes the nearly imperceptible recoil when their fingers touch. This is often a reaction to touch when a woman has been an abuse victim and it saddens him. He’s counseled enough battered women to recognize the signs and it always brings out a deep desire to beat the shit out of the offender.

Unable to turn away, he continues to watch as she disappears into the ladies’ restroom. After waiting at a safe distance for her to emerge and feeling somewhat like a stalker, he finds it impossible to walk away. Instincts tell him she’s too young, too vulnerable—he needs to walk away. She takes a seat closest to the window in one of the gate areas. She must be waiting for the same flight he’s taking. Hmmm… fate perhaps? He’s been a strong believer in fate his entire life. It’s a belief instilled in him by his mother. She reminded everyone, with sometimes irritating regularity, that life and fate are interconnected—God’s Master Plan. He smiles as he remembers her words: "Jason, Jeremy, you can’t mess with fate. If it’s meant to be, it will be." If he’s heard it once, he’s heard it a thousand times.

Rather than taking a seat, he walks up to the agent at the ticket counter.

Chapter 2

I need to make a stop before I find the gate. I spot the black silhouetted figure and duck under the sign and into the ladies’ restroom. As I exit the restroom, I glance around nervously. No sign of him. I make my way towards the gate and on the way I grab a coffee from a small shop along the concourse. My biggest fear at the moment is he’ll realize I’m gone and find me before I’m able to board the plane.

I find the gate at the end of the concourse and because the waiting area hasn’t begun to fill yet, I have a choice of seats. I choose one closest to the windows, with a view of the planes and the concourse. Pulling the new book from my carry-on, I settle in to wait for the flight. After everything that’s happened this past year, I still find it hard to believe I’m reading a book about sex of all flipping things. It’s laughable since sex ranks right up there with airplane flights and root canals. I remind myself the book choices were limited. I sigh—I’m positive this book will never be on my list of favorites. However, at least now I won’t be the only one in the world who hasn’t read it.

It’s a pretty thick book, which is a good thing. I have plenty of time to kill before the flight. David had to drop me off four hours before the takeoff time. It was necessary so he could drive the hour it takes to get back to West Chester and make it to work. The extra time spent here is making me nervous. It gives him that much more time to find me.

David is such a sweet and considerate man and I’m grateful he could drive me to the airport. He’s upset because he couldn’t arrange to stay with me until the flight left—David has been protective for as long as I can remember. We’ve always been close—he’s been my favorite cousin since we were children. On our drive here, he did mention more than once, how happy he is I’ve finally worked up the courage to leave Pennsylvania.

He’s the only one in the family who knew what was going on between B.J. and me. He wanted to take care of B.J. and it was difficult convincing him things would be much worse for me if B.J. found out he knew.

I place the coffee on the small table next to the seat, pull the book from my carry-on and settle in to read the book of the millennium. I have only read the first two chapters when I hear the speaker system at the departure gate hiss. Glancing up, I’m amazed to find that the waiting area has filled with people. Was I that into reading this book? I have to begrudgingly admit, it’s good. Of course, I haven’t gotten to the sex part yet, which means there’s a distinct possibility I’ll change my mind before too long.

Attention in the gate area, will passenger Marilee Reese please report to the agent at boarding gate 23.

Shit, my stomach does a flip. I have a feeling I’m going to be bumped. I’ve heard airlines can overbook then bump people off a flight. What am I going to do now? Dad’s going to be waiting for me. I don’t want to spend any more time here. Each minute that passes increases the odds he’ll track me down and drag me back.

I’m Marilee Reese, I say, pulling my ticket from my carry-on and presenting it to the agent behind the counter.

The airline is giving you an upgrade to first class. The agent says smiling.

I don’t need an upgrade. I’m fine with the seat in coach, I answer, shaking my head. There’s no way I can afford a first class ticket.

The agent smiles warmly. We have first class seats available and coach is overbooked. Your name could have come up randomly. The first class lounge is through this door, she says, pointing to a door to the left of the departure gate. Just enjoy yourself. It’s a nice lounge—lucky girl.

I frown, lucky for what? I’ve never considered myself lucky. Hell, look at the mess my life is in.

Thank you. I frown, not sure what to make of this.

The airline agent may be right, perhaps my luck is changing and this is a sign it’s on the upswing. Now, wouldn’t that be nice?

When I walk through the door into the first class lounge, I stand for a moment and try to absorb all I see. The plush white chairs and sofas are in small groupings around the room. A bar occupies one corner and behind the bar stands a nice looking bartender in airline uniform. To the left of the bar sits a long table laden with food, real plates and real silverware. Well, no plastic in first class. The lounge looks comfortable, elegant and way out of my league.

As I glance at the other people in the room, I realize I’m not dressed for first class and I’m suddenly self-conscious and a little uncomfortable. I’m certain everyone in here can tell I don’t belong.

I close my eyes for a moment and smile a small triumphant smile—I’m going to take the agent’s advice and enjoy myself. This is probably a once in a lifetime deal—so why not? Besides, he’ll never think to look for me in first class. I’m much safer here.

I find an unoccupied area closest to the windows and snuggle into the corner of one of the plush and comfortable sofas. I grab the book from my carry-on and resume reading.

A deep, warm voice startles me.

Whatever you’re thinking must be very pleasant. I would love to know what’s behind that beautiful smile.

I look up and suck in a breath. I’m gazing into the eyes of the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen—straight out of the movies beautiful. My breath hitches—damn. Does shit like this happens in first class? It sure as heck doesn’t happen in coach. He must be with someone—I glance around the lounge expecting to see a beautiful woman close by. I see no one beautiful enough to belong with him.

He’s amazingly good looking and he’s so tall, at least six feet, probably more. His blue eyes twinkle, obviously amused. He’s undoubtedly use to foolish mortal women staring at him in awe and amazement. I’m speechless.

His dark blonde hair is long, touching below his collar in the back, and he has distinguished hints of gray just below his temples. He’s wearing tight black jeans and the fabric of his white shirt strains against his upper body revealing broad shoulders and bulging muscles everywhere. I’ve never been this close to anyone who looks as good as he does. Surely he must be a body builder, Mr. America or one of those TV wrestlers.

He’s smiling as he gazes at me. He’s so amazingly good looking. Just gazing at him boggles the mind. I’m incapable of a coherent thought at the moment.

He appears to be older than I am, perhaps 35 or 40. He’s what fantasies are made of and the sight of him is making it difficult to remember to breathe.

Breathe, Marilee. You need to breathe—I remind myself.

I was thinking how nice it is to be in the first class lounge instead of the main waiting area. The airline upgraded my ticket. I’ve never seen first class. I say in a nervous ramble that makes me suddenly feel and quite possible sound like a babbling idiot.

He gestures towards the sofa opposite me. May I?

I nod, praying my inability to control the chaotic little explosions in my mind and body are not showing. I can’t control the temptation, I want to stare. I close my eyes and say another quick prayer. Please-don’t let me do or say anything stupid. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.

He gracefully sinks into the sofa opposite me and I note the amused smirk on his face as he glances towards the book I’m holding—my cheeks flush. If I’d had other options, this book wouldn’t have been my first choice. I frown—stare into his eyes and give him my very best fuck you scowl. His smirk widens into a full blown grin… arrogant ass.

As nonchalantly as I can manage, I go back to the book trying hard to concentrate and ignore the distraction sitting opposite me. Concentrating is an impossible task. He’s turning me into a quivering mess. I’m still finding it difficult to remember to breathe and I’m well aware a brain doesn’t function well without oxygen. Glancing at the book in my lap, I command my hands to stop shaking and attempt to at least appear poised and self-confident.

I want to glance up one more time. You need to focus dammit. You will not look up-keep reading the book. I gaze surreptitiously through my lashes. He’s watching me intently—my body quivers. I try hard to maintain the illusion that I’m reading. My mind is unable to comprehend a single word. What the hell—why am I so affected? He’s a gorgeously hot hunk and you’ve never been this close to a gorgeously hot hunk, that’s why—stupid!

If he wasn’t such an arrogant ass, it might be pleasant to picture him in a fantasy or two. He would be the perfect someone to swoop in, rescue me and carry me off into the sunset to live happily-ever-after. Okay, enough! I take a deep breath in a futile attempt to relax. I will not allow myself to be distracted by him. I need to go back to the book—I sigh.

I’m surprised to find I’m enjoying this story even though the distraction sitting opposite me is making it difficult to concentrate. I’ve had to read several pages more than once.

For the most part, I like the girl in the book. I’m not sure I care for the guy—but care for him or not, the things he’s trying to get her to agree to are hot and erotic. I squeeze my thighs together and close my eyes as I try to imagine what it would be like to meet someone like him. Jeez, I’m not sure if it would be exciting or scary or both?

I gaze through the window and daydream. Do people actually do those things? Is any of it real? If it’s real, how do they learn to do those things? They call it a lifestyle. I wonder, do they live this lifestyle? I don’t need to wonder—I am capable of finding the answer to this shit. I do know how to Google.

Yes. Mr. Gorgeous says softly, breaking into my reverie and sending the ability to concentrate flying right out of the airport window.

I glance up quickly in surprise and the sight of him again makes my breath hitch. Excuse me.

Yes, people do engage in that lifestyle.

My jaw drops. Holy shit, did I say that out loud? I didn’t, did I? No! I’m sure I didn’t. He could be a psychic. Ha! With my luck, he’s probably a damned psycho. I don’t believe in that psychic crap anyway. Perhaps he’s a mind reader. Oh boy, I hope not—if he is, I need to clear my mind. I don’t want anyone reading my thoughts, at least not in mixed company.

No, he says as I shiver. I don’t read minds. I read faces and body language. It’s usually quite telling. He grins and I stop breathing all together. Damn, he’s beautiful, especially when he smiles.

Would you like a glass of wine? He asks. His grin widens. I nod, unable to find my voice. Lack of oxygen is obviously taking its toll.

Would you prefer red or white?

White would be nice, thank you, I whisper, my voice wavering—thank God my brain made a connection to my mouth. It’s a little early for wine but I need something with a calming effect. I’m hoping the wine will calm me.

He stands and walks towards the bar. There is such a grace and ease in the way he moves, the way he talks and his mannerisms. He seems so comfortable and confident. I suppose with a body and looks like that, he has every right to be confident. I’ve often wished I was confident and poised. Instead, I always feel awkward and out of place, no matter where I am, who I’m with or what I’m doing.

Here you go, he says softly, his voice deep and warm.

Thank you, I whisper, my nerves resurfacing—I fidget in the seat.

Wow, I marvel—a real wine glass. First class is certainly different. Lifestyles of the rich and famous I suppose.

My name is Jason Woods.

I’m Marilee Reese, I reply awkwardly.

Well Marilee, are you headed to Sarasota or Bradenton?

Bradenton, I answer.

Is this trip for business, he asks, his voice soft and seductive, or pleasure?

He makes that sentence sound as though it should be whispered in the bedroom. My face flushes and heats.

Neither—maybe both—I’m moving to Bradenton because my parents and brother live there.

I hear the paging system crackle and a soft feminine voice begins announcing the flight information. Flight 617, nonstop from Philadelphia to Atlanta with continuing flight to Sarasota-Bradenton is now boarding rows one through four through gate 23.

I smile at the beautiful Mr. Woods. That’s my flight, I say, relieved, but also with more than just a tinge of disappointment. I stand.

Thank you for the wine. It was very nice to meet you. I extend my hand and he stands, grasps my fingers and raises the back of my hand to his lips—my heart does a stop, drop and flip.

The pleasure has been mine, Miss Reese. He smiles and cocks his head to one side. Damn, he’s completely adorable. I sigh, smile and begin quickly gathering my things before I embarrass myself further and melt into a puddle right in front of him.

I find row two, window seat and settle in. Wow, first class is great. No squeezing passengers like sardines in here. Quickly, I close my eyes and say another little prayer. Please help me get through this flight without an embarrassing panic attack and I promise I’ll stop asking for so much.

Thoughts of Mr. Woods creep into my mind. I suppose I’m glad the flight was called. I sigh—he made me comfortable, but uncomfortable at the same time. There were times I felt way too open. It was as though he could see right through me and I could swear he was reading my mind. He was arrogant too. I don’t particularly like arrogant. He was making me a nervous, jittery mess. Jeez, he was so tall, way too good looking and so muscular—a little scary and intimidating.

Hmmm, intimidating just like the man in the book. I close my eyes and smile. Ooh, having these thoughts is so nice. I’ve just given a face to the name of the guy in the book and what he did to her their first night together is hot. I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to ease the ache. If I keep thinking this way, I’ll never need to do another kegel exercise as long as I live. My imagination is working overtime. Well, imagination or not, Mr. Woods will probably be a star in my fantasies for quite a while. As least my fantasies have happy endings. I’ve never met anyone so blessed in the looks department.

Okay, okay calm down. So what if he’s tall and beautiful. So what if he’s a blonde, blue-eyed hunk. So what if his shirt is too small, or are his muscles too big? So what if he’s tall and mouth-wateringly gorgeous—all things considered, he’s also arrogant—so what!

I hope you’re not tired of my company.

I’m startled out of my musings and face the twinkling blue eyes of Jason Woods.

It seems this is my seat. He smiles.

Mr. Woods, I mutter. The quivering nerves I was beginning to bring under control quickly resurface at the sight of him.

Jason, please, he says with a knowing grin.

He gracefully sinks into the aisle seat. Wow, he could be the guy in the book. I narrow my eyes—he’s certainly beautiful enough.

Nervously, I go back to my book. I am enjoying the story, but the guy is just too controlling. After these last few years, I don’t want to be controlled by anyone. What baffles me is why I still find it so hot and erotic to read. There has never been anything about sex that has appealed to me.

I might be willing to give it a try with the guy in the book, or perhaps with someone like Jason. I’m sure I could manage to stay still and quiet if it meant someone would do all those kinky things to me.

The book is fiction—which means not real, dummy. No one does those things—I sigh. Thanks to my common sense, my bubble just burst.

Spending time with Mr. Gorgeous has sent my imagination off the deep end. Gazing at him makes the hot sex in the book very nice to think about, even if it isn’t real. At this particular moment, I feel very strongly that a girl is entitled to her fantasies.

A firm grip on my chin tilts my head and I’m gazing into his beautiful blue eyes, his touch sending a wonderful tingle through me.

I’d like to know what you were thinking just now. What could have caused that lovely blush and smile? He murmurs.

He glances at the book in my lap with an amused smirk. I can guess. And my face heats again—damn.

The plane lurches away from the gate and I instinctively grab the arm rests. I glance around the cabin and everyone seems fine, happy, relaxed—except me. We’re not even taking off yet. Jason’s hand wraps around mine as he eases me closer to him.

You’re fine baby, I’m right here.

Wow, baby, the guy in the book calls her baby, too. I like the sound of it. No one has ever called me baby. The way he says it sounds so sexy. There’s that strange, unfamiliar ache again. Damn, what the hell is this? I’ve never reacted like this when I’ve flown! It can’t be cabin pressure. I suppose it could be the cabin pressure. No, I shouldn’t have had a glass of wine. I hope I’m not getting sick. It may be nerves—or perhaps it’s only the stress of flying.

I’m sorry, I panic when the plane takes off and lands. Oh and I panic a lot when there’s turbulence, I whisper trying to distract myself from the unfamiliar and confusing ache.

He gently squeezes my right hand. Easing my arm across the front of my body, he tilts my head so I’m resting against his shoulder. This should feel awkward. I don’t even know this man. I can’t help wondering why it doesn’t. Being this close to him is nice—really nice.

I try in vain to relax as the plane taxis out to the runway. When it comes to a stop and the engines rev, every muscle in my body goes rigid. Jason shifts in his seat leans close to my ear—the plane accelerates and I’m pressed back into the seat.

Relax, we’ll be fine. We’re here together. Take a deep breath baby. His words are slow, soft and hypnotic. The warmth of his breath on my ear sends tingles shooting through me.

Your hair smells so good, like wildflowers and honeysuckle… hmmm, this part of your neck, right under your ear is very sensitive. His finger softly touches under my ear then gently grazes my skin from my ear to my throat, sending shivers all the way to my toes.

Did you know that this is a sensitive area? I love being this close to you. It pleases me that you will be moving so close to me… And I smile, we’re airborne.

Thank you. I always feel silly after I panic, but I still can’t help being nervous when I fly. I sit up and shake my head, unable to believe I made it through the takeoff without panicking. The embarrassment at my silliness is so acute my cheeks heat as though my face is sunburned.

"My pleasure, flying frightens a lot of people. I’m personally hoping for a