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She felt like she would melt from the heat in his eyes. “A taste would never be enough. If you let me, I'm going to give you everything, and I'm going to do it forever.” He took the box and knelt down in front of her, holding it up as she lifted the pink cardboard lid off the cake box and gasped.
Embedded in the center of the ten-inch round, buttercream frosted cake was the most breathtaking ring she'd ever seen.
"Will you give me forever, Laine?"
She dropped to her knees, pulling the frosting-coated ring free. Jason set the cake aside and took the ring from her shaking grasp. He slid it over the third finger on her left hand, leaving a smeared sweet trail of frosting in its path.
"Yes, forever,” she sighed, feeling the word fill her heart as the soft glide of his lips against hers made the world go away.
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About the AuthorTo learn more about Moira McTark, please visit www.moiramctark.blogspot.com or send an email to [email protected]. She loves to hear from her readers!
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Look for these titles by Moira McTarkNow Available:Nothing Stays in VegasConsumed[Back to Table of Contents]
This professor's final exam includes a spanking.Dear Sir, I'm Yours© 2009 Joely Sue BurkhartThere's no house restoration too challenging for Rae Jackson, a.k.a. “The Fix-It Lady". There's no fixing the past, though. Like the day she left college. A semester of flirting with her English professor ended when he spanked her to the best orgasm of her life. Afraid of her own eager willingness to comply with the sexy dom's commands—no matter what—she fled.
Yet not even five years can dim her memory of his masterful touch.
Conn never forgot the one student who gave him a big fat “F” on the greatest test of his life. After all these years, he's still haunted by his uncharacteristic loss of control. When he finds the very object of his shame—and desire—crawling around under his grandmother's house, he swears to do anything to win Rae's trust.
Rae finds herself helpless against Conn's slow seduction. Exactly the way she likes it. Instead of poetry, this time she learns the erotic pleasure to be found in bondage ... and submission to the sexiest professor alive.
Warning: Explicit sex, spanking, light bondage, a crazy old lady who talks to ghosts, and one lethal pink parasol.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Dear Sir, I'm Yours:
Dear Dr. Connagher:
We all wear masks, whether to protect ourselves or others. Sometimes the mask slips, and it's a very frightening thing when the beast is revealed beneath the pleasant exterior.
Richard has so many masks that I can't keep track of them all. He has the supervisor role he plays with the contractors, the good ole boy role with his buddies, the dutiful son-in-law with my father. All of them are fake—I just never noticed it before. One by one, those masks slipped enough for me to see the truth.
Last night, he looked at my poor crippled father in that wheelchair with contempt, and I wanted to leap on Richard and beat him to death with my own fists.
To be honest, it never occurred to me that he was only pretending, even with me. Especially with me. Oh, Conn, he can be so terribly mean.
Of course, only at home where no one can see his mask pulled aside. It sounds ridiculously immature to whine about someone being mean, but I always thought that someone who loved me, really loved me, would never be able to speak to me so harshly.
Like I'm stupid. Worthless. Dog manure to wipe off his boots.
Later, he apologized, but the damage had been done. I saw, I heard, and I can't forget. The man I thought I loved and loved me in return is no longer there. I suspect he never was.
Whether in class or the hallway, you treated everyone the same, from lowly non-English students, to returning students you mentored year after year, to fellow professors. You never acted differently, until it was just you and me behind your locked office door.
That's when the real Conn peeked out.
I loved him as much as the professor, even if you scared me half to death.
I wear a mask now, putting on an “everything's okay” face as soon as I get out of bed in the morning. I hate that damned mask. I hate pretending, losing myself a little more each day.
I'm scared, Conn. I'm scared that I'll forget who I am until I am the mask. You're the only man who ever saw the real me. I hold on to her, but I feel her slipping a little more each day beneath this cold, numbing mask.
The night I stop dreaming about you will be the morning I don't have to put the mask on any longer. I'll be a zombie, then, a ghost, the girl you knew dead and buried beneath a false façade of vapid smiles and broken dreams.
I wish you could bend me back over your desk and spank me until I feel again. Help me, Conn. Help me remember who I am.
