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eBook Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
eBook Description: Cecelia sold herself in a bargain for rough play and a great story--not murder! Cecelia Brentwood, fetish reporter for San Francisco's Inappropriate Voices, agrees to auction herself off as a BDSM slave for thirty days. She plans to write a first-person expose, but after she's purchased by Garrett Lawrence, the most eligible gay bachelor in town, her story becomes an insider peek at the man once accused of killing his lover. Garrett still mourns the loss of his beloved, but the past is hard to forget when it's stalking him. The real killer is obsessed with Garrett ... until Cecelia's deception is discovered and the killer decides she's the perfect route to his prey.

eBook Publisher: Lyrical Press, Inc., Published: 2009, 2009
Fictionwise Release Date: September 2009

28 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [336 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [327 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [306 KB] , Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [965 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [345 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [285 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [339 KB] , hiebook (KML) [738 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [411 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [285 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [356 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [399 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [500 KB]
Words: 108758
Reading time: 310-435 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"This is for you."

Nervously, I accept the box, realizing that my hand is trembling when I fumble with the ribbon. With the box free, I read the name of a much-respected jeweler embossed in gold. Gingerly, I lift the hinged lid to reveal a gold circlet with a heart-shaped charm. The charm is set with a large, brilliant, heart-shaped ruby, so beautiful, so expensive, I gasp. "It is beautiful!"

Emotion crosses his face before he shutters it away, but not quickly enough that I don't see he was pleased that I am impressed. He pushes my hood away from my face, arranging it over my shoulders in deep folds, before lifting the circlet from the box and placing it carefully around my neck. The cool metal rests softly on my collarbone. I hadn't paid any heed to the locked hinge or the small gold key before--until I hear the mechanism click in my ear. Slave collar. An alarm goes off in my mind.

"I am glad you like it. I designed it several years ago with the feline persona in mind."

The small delicate safety chain dangles on the back of my neck, tickling, teasing gooseflesh along my back, a sensory reminder that this little piece of jewelry isn't going to fall off on its own. Feline persona? His words echo in my brain.

"You're not on our client list and neither is your former master, so I should probably explain the way things work around here. The third level is for Members Only, The Oasis Dining Room, a fetish lounge, and it is where you will spend most of your time when I am working." Lifting my chin, he gazes into my eyes. "Because I am the owner of this place, you are going to be under constant scrutiny, meaning that you have to behave, is that understood?"

Not really, but I nod agreeably.

He doesn't seem to notice either way.

"At The Oasis, the slaves are divided into two classes, canine and feline, and they behave accordingly. Once you see the members in action, you will have a better idea of what I am talking about. Most nights, we will be here until after closing, meaning a very long night. Tonight, we are only going to make an appearance, so that the members can see what all the fuss is about." Garrett shakes his head and chuckles to himself. "You have really stirred things up around here."

Me? I have no idea what he's talking about, so I stay silent.

"These people are also my friends, so treat them respectfully at all times and, while we are here, you don't speak. On occasion, I will give you permission to speak, but only then, understand?"

I nod my head.

"Meow," he commands.

"What?" I exclaim.

Garrett glares at me, and I know I'm in big trouble. I am supposed to be an experienced slave but I have no real idea how to behave and reading all the books in the world would not have prepared me for tonight. Quickly, I drop to my knees and lower my head. "I mean, I don't know how."

"Do you have a cat?"

I nod in answer.

"Well, then, you know how. I am being lenient because you are new to me, but once you know all the rules, there will be consequences to your failures."

I remain silent.

"Do it!" he barks.

"Merroww." I do my best imitation of Monet. I will not cry because I miss my cat. I am sure Garrett sees the wetness straining to slip free of my lashes.

"Very nice, Kitten."

He walks from the small storeroom, leaving me on my knees and feeling quite ridiculous. I scramble to my feet, pushing all thought of Monet away. Moments later, he returns with a long gold chain that he deftly attaches to my collar and continues speaking as if he'd never left.

"Tonight I will lead you, but in the future I will expect you to follow close, whether my hand touches this chain or not. If you are questioned by anyone other than me once we're upstairs, you will give a positive response with two meows and a negative response with one meow. If I ask the question, you will answer by rubbing your cheek on me in the same manner. Understood?"

He looks into my eyes, and I feel encouraged. Suddenly, I get the giddy feeling we're in cahoots on some big secret and, in a way, I guess we are. Role-playing, it seems like a child's game, but I don't forget that it could have very real consequences. He lifts the hood back over my head and leads me from the quiet room. His hand is gentle on the leash, unlike when Doug was jerking me around. But then this man would have to be gentle because this jeweler's chain would break easily, or so I assume. I hurry to keep up.

We take a glass elevator up to the third floor, leaving the noisy crowd and loud music behind us. Garrett leads me out of the elevator and into The Oasis. A standing ovation greets us. I quickly drop my face, looking at the floor, unsure of what is expected. It is a chance to be observant, taking notes in my head. From beneath hooded lashes, I survey the room, refusing to make eye contact with any of the curious faces turned my way. Unlike the first two levels that sported black-painted concrete floors, this level is luxurious, with plush red carpet in a Turkish pattern covering the floor and soft pink tube lighting in place of the glaring neon lights. Classical background music offers a thankful reprieve from the frenzied dance music downstairs. Cushioned chairs circle small round tables and floor pillows rest by each chair. Further observation confirms my sneaking suspicion that the slaves are expected to recline on the floor cushions.

From behind me, Garrett lowers my hood, pulling me from my mental reverie, and I become intensely aware of just how many sets of eyes rest on me. I feel the heat of Garrett's breath and his lips close to my ear, and I shudder as he whispers, "Relax and don't panic, and for God's sake hold your head up."