Whipped Delights [Dark Desires 1] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Read online

  Dark Desires 1

  Whipped Delights

  Famous cookbook author and chef Emma Cunningham, 43, has spent all her adult life searching for the one man who could control her. Emma is a sexual masochist but never found a man who could resist her pleas for more pain. She has been terrified of being permanently injured.

  When she meets a handsome stranger, Simon Harrington, 45, all her senses come alive. He seems as attracted to her as she is to him. But how will he react when she tells him she needs to be tied up and whipped hard during sex? Will he say goodbye when she tells him she can't climax without pain, without being hurt? Will he be like most men she has told and tell her she's a freak or is there a chance that her dark desires might coincide with his? That he enjoys inflicting whipped delights?

  Genre: BDSM, Contemporary

  Length: 59,915 words

  WHIPPED DELIGHTS

  Dark Desires 1

  Suzy Shearer

  SIREN SENSATIONS

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Siren Sensations

  WHIPPED DELIGHTS

  Copyright © 2015 by Suzy Shearer

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-63258-909-5

  First E-book Publication: February 2015

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Whipped Delights by Suzy Shearer from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Suzy Shearer’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Suzy Shearer’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  The mind, at times, takes masochistic delight in suffering.―Saurbh Katyal, Seduced by Murder

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  About the Author

  WHIPPED DELIGHTS

  Dark Desires 1

  SUZY SHEARER

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  Damn, what a day! Emma thought to herself.

  Emma was tired but she still had one more demonstration. It was now six forty. The demonstration was due to start at seven. She picked up her bag—it held her apron, folders, and bits and pieces that she sometimes needed.

  The hotel had given her this small room to relax in between each demo, and she had already done four today. Thank goodness, this was the last.

  Emma was a well-known Australian chef who had traded the restaurant kitchen for the cookbook and become a writer. She had a large number of cooking books out and was always sought after for demonstrations, events, and the occasional catering gig where the price was too good for her to refuse. She had built a very large following of fans, not only here in Australia, but worldwide, around the fact that she used sex to sell, or at least her publisher did. Her cookbooks were designed around “love and sex” themes.

  At forty-three, Emma Cunningham had the world at her feet. Unfortunately, her private life was in shambles. No—that was wrong. It wasn’t in shambles, it was nonexistent!

  She guessed most people would think she was as successful in her private life as she was in her public. Nothing could be further from the truth. Emma struggled to meet someone who could satisfy what she liked to call her “little kink.”

  Although that wasn’t strictly true—plenty of men, and women for that matter, would be happy to accommodate her. Her problem was finding someone who she could trust to control her.

  Emma was a sexual masochist.

  She needed to feel pain during sex. She needed to be hurt, needed to have rough, angry sex. But she also needed a man who would not let her overstep her limits, something that was so very easy for her to do. If the man wielding the whip wasn’t strong enough, she would control him, begging for more, until it was too late and she was seriously hurt.

  She’d learnt that lesson when she was in her twenties and had allowed a man to use a flogger and a whip. She had begged him for more and he had obliged. The good thing was another person had seen she was way past her limits and had stopped him before he could do any permanent damage.

  Once she came down from subspace, she’d realised how foolish she’d been. Since then she had searched for someone who would not only give her the pain she craved but would also be dominant enough to know when she had reached her limit. Someone she could have complete trust in. A few times, she had considered going to a BDSM club but she didn’t know any, and was wary at what and who she might find there.

  She also had to be careful not to become involved with a sadist. It would be too easy for him to overstep and she would suffer badly.

  Still she had managed to maintain a few relation
ships over the years. But they all ended because of her needs. The men involved just couldn’t cope with her dark desires.

  Her last relationship had ended seven years ago. It wasn’t satisfactory to either her or the man she was involved with. He was not strong enough to control her and so would not attempt to satisfy her pain cravings. They still remained friends, but Andrew knew it could never be anything else. He was too gentle, too mild to control her.

  Ah well, time to go back down the stairs to the podium, to start the final demonstration.

  She checked everything was in order in her bag, picked it up then, with a quick glance in the mirror, checked her reflection. Her very long, thick, deep auburn hair was swept on top of her head. Her makeup was impeccable, complementing her ivory skin and light green eyes. She was a big-busted woman, with heaps of curves that suited her. She revelled in her shape and deplored women who strived for thin model-like figures.

  Because people expected a certain style from her lectures, she was wearing a tight black skirt, white blouse and very high heels. Once she got behind the mock kitchen bench, she would slip of her heels as she lectured. Standing straight, she shook her head then she adopted her “kitchen goddess” persona, moved into the hallway, and started for the staircase leading down into the auditorium.

  As she started down the stairs, her heel caught on the apron string dangling out of her bag. She tried to grab the handrail but missed, dropping the bag instead.

  Just as Emma thought she was going to fall all the way down, a strong arm grabbed her. She clung to it as she tried to right herself but ended up sitting on the stair. Her saviour turned out to be a very attractive and, fortunately, very strong, man.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Thanks. Thank you so much, I thought I was headed for the bottom.”

  “I’d hate to see that beautiful face black and blue.”

  He leaned very close to her,” Is your foot okay?”

  “I think so. My heel got caught.” She grinned wryly.

  “How ’bout you stand up and make sure you haven’t twisted anything.”

  He helped her to stand and when she went to step and put weight on that foot, she almost fell again. She ended up with his arms around her. Emma could not help noticing that he smelt delicious as well as being good looking.

  “I think you’d better sit down again.”

  He sat her on the stair again and lifted her foot. “There’s your problem.”

  He had taken off her shoe. Her beautiful and expensive Louboutin Zappa looked very sad—the heel was hanging at a very strange angle.

  “Damn! They are, or rather, were my favourite shoes! Oh well, at least it wasn’t my neck.”

  He looked at the shoe and then gave her a rather strange look. The Zappa were pointed-toe stilettos in black kid leather featuring six tiny rows of sexy spikes on the back of the heel.

  She reached down and took off her other shoe. Once more, he helped her stand. Emma was surprised at how tall he was now her high heels were off. He had to be at least six foot six to her five foot eight and looked to be a few years older than her forty-three. He smiled down at her and she felt her stomach flip. He had the most amazing light blue eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. There was only one word for him, delicious.

  He actually held her elbow as they went down the stairs. The bag had fallen onto the landing and was lying, ready for her, when he picked it up instead. She could feel his fingers rubbing her arm.

  “Oh please. It’s okay. I can carry it.”

  She was embarrassed that someone would be helping her.

  “No. You carry your shoes, I’ll carry this. Which way?”

  Emma blushed and then led him along to the auditorium. Walking in, she led him to the pseudo kitchen bench.

  “Thank you so much. I appreciate your help.”

  She held out her hand for the bag after throwing her shoes in a shelf underneath. He moved past her, brushing against her as he did and placed it on the counter.

  “So going to fall down any more stairs today? Would you like a bodyguard?”

  Emma laughed. “I hope not. Thanks for the offer but I think I’ll be fine now.”

  “Are you sure? I’d be only too happy to offer my services,” he replied with a wink. Emma had a feeling he was not just talking about carrying her bag. She gave him a big grin and shook her head.

  Damn, he was good looking!

  He stepped very close to her. Emma could feel her heart pounding. She was frightened but excited as she breathed in his delicious male aroma. He put his hands on her shoulders and for a moment, she thought he was going to push her onto the countertop.

  He leant down and whispered in her ear, “Maybe another time.”

  He let her go and she gripped the cabinet hard with her hands, pulling herself against it. He gave her a bow of his head and turned to walk out. At the end of the bench, he looked back and he grinned at her. “I’d love to see something else laying on that countertop rather than your bag.”

  With that, he walked off.

  Emma leant against the bench and fanned her face. Wow, she thought to herself, that man is h.o.t! Her heart was racing. She thought he’d been going to force her to do something and she didn’t think just kissing her was what he had in mind.

  She pushed herself off the counter. Her ankle gave a little twinge, but she had no choice but to smile sweetly and pretend all was well. Throwing her bag alongside her shoes, she put her apron on just as her assistant, Greg Andrews, came in. He held a clipboard.

  “Everything’s organised, Em. Oven’s on to preheat, just in case. I know you don’t need it but you have a habit of doing some spur-of-the-moment things. Ingredients all organised. You’ve got ten minutes. I’m just going to open the main doors and let people in.”

  “Great! Thanks, Greg. I’ll be glad to go home.”

  “Me, too, damn long day.”

  He left her and headed to the wide doors at the back of the room.

  Tonight she was demonstrating how to make a dessert. Sort of a take on Tiramisu but in a martini glass. It was from her latest cookbook—Sexy Suppers. Each of the demonstrations today had been from it. The previous four had covered hors d’oeuvres, entrées, soups, and mains. Now it was the dessert finale.

  As the room filled, her thoughts kept straying to her mysterious saviour. She kept feeling his strong arms around her and that delicious scent he wore.

  “Stupid woman, moping over a stranger.” She shook her head as she spoke aloud and tried to forget him. She assembled things, ready to start her demonstration. As the clock ticked over to seven, Emma cleared her throat and switched on the microphone attached to her head.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we finish off our day of decedent, sexy meals with dessert. This lovely creation can be made in the morning and left in the fridge until evening. Then dusted with finely grated chocolate to serve.”

  With the ease of someone well-versed in the kitchen, Emma proceeded to make the dish. Every member of the audience hung on her words. She was very good at making her audience feel they were part of an intimate conversation. Perhaps that was why she had such a large following. She tried to make herself seem approachable, sexy, and strong. She gave the impression that her food would win over even the most hesitant lover.

  Once she had finished assembling the dish, she then went on to demonstrate some alternative variations on the same theme—a chocolate mousse flavoured with espresso coffee and marsala as well as one flavoured with orange and orange liqueur.

  At the end of the presentation, her assistant lifted a large tray of the tiramisu from the fridge. He served out small portions for her audience to taste, while Emma handled questions, thanked her audience, and signed cookbooks.

  When the room finally cleared, Emma had to admit she was glad. She was tired. She was limping badly now, her ankle tender and swollen. She must have twisted it when the heel broke but was too flustered to take notice at the time. She handed over the
microphone to Greg. The hotel had arranged cleaning so all that remained was for her to collect her bag before picking up her shoes.

  “I’ll see you in the office on Tuesday, Greg. We need to go through the bookings for the next few months. I think Alison was wanting something added.” Alison was her publicist.

  “She always wants something added. Anything to make more money for her.”

  Emma laughed.

  “True. I think I’ve got everything. The cleaners will be in soon, so don’t wait around.”

  “No problems, enjoy your two days off.”

  “You, too. Night.”

  She hobbled painfully upstairs to the room she had used before. Picking up a small overnight bag, she went down in the elevator to the car park. She was glad to reach her car at last but then noticed her front tyre was flat. That was all she needed. She wanted nothing more than to go home and soak in the tub for an hour, instead, she would now have to change a tyre!

  She glanced around and didn’t see anyone, so she did what anyone normal female would do—swear very loudly.

  “Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  She stamped her feet a few times, hurting her ankle even more. “Ouch. Double fuck!” She hopped around. “Ow, my ankle!”

  Then threw her broken shoe at the tyre and the other on the ground beside her. “Stupid fucking tyre!”

  “What is it with you and shoes?” a deep masculine voice asked.

  Emma whirled quickly around. Her mystery man was at a nearby car.

  Oh great!

  Here she was acting like a complete idiot, he saw and heard it all. Obviously, he must have been behind her, heading to his car, as she came out. She hadn’t noticed him in her anger. He stood alongside her, looking at the tyre.