Tessa was all set. She was engaged to marry the perfect man. He was rich, great looking, and a doctor. Then, on Valentine's Day, the gift basket came. Filled with handcuffs, naughty toys, and the like.
Not long after that the letters started coming. Then the phone calls. Her perfect fiance wasn't looking so perfect any more.
A late night breaking and entering convinces her of that when her secret admirer comes to call, and show her just how completely she belongs to him--only him--body and soul.
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Whipped Cream and Handcuffs by Shiloh Walker
There was another letter, sitting there on her desk. She felt her heart skip a beat as heat pooled low in her belly. Glancing around, she made sure nobody else had seen it. More instinctive than anything, since she was usually one of the first ones in the office.
Slowly, her hands shaking, she reached out. A poem this time?Another short story that would have her quivering and ready to beg for climax?
Not this time.
This time it just read, Soon.
Holy shit, he had meant it.
Whoever it was that called her late at night--whoever it was that left these dirty little stories, or romantic poems--was going to finally come out and meet her. Face to face.
The first letter had come nearly four months earlier, on Valentine's Day, with a basket that held some interesting little items. A pair of cloth restraints-- like handcuffs--but made of soft material that wouldn't cause pain. A feather. A bottle of massage oil.
A can of whipped cream.
And a magnet.
The magnet had read
Since then, only the stiff ivory envelopes made of a heavy bond paper that had linen in it. The writing was all handwritten and looked familiar, but she couldn't place it. Sweeping, rather elegant looking, especially for a man.
A month after the letters had started, the phone calls had begun.
She rubbed her left hand nervously against her pants, the ring on her finger flashing at her mockingly.
The letters had started less than a week after Tyson had proposed. And when she told, rather reluctantly, the mystery man--who refused to give his name when he called her--he had only responded, "The man isn't right for you."
She suspected the letters had started because of the proposal. And she also suspected her mystery man was right. Just reading his letter left her more turned on than foreplay with Tyson. Very tepid foreplay, at that.
If just his letters, his voice were enough to make her cleft wet and aching, what would touching him, him touching her, be like?
She was going to find out.
But maybe she should tell Tyson.
* * * * *
The cool eyed blonde sitting across from her started to tap his fingers steadily on the white tablecloth. He lifted his water glass and sipped from it before setting it back down and staring her like she was a lab specimen under a microscope.
He was angry.
She had rarely seen Tyson James angry, but the tic throbbing in his chin was a pretty good give away. "Why haven't you called the police?" he finally asked.
The police? Why on earth would she call the police? The thought must have been written all over her face because Tyson leaned forward and said, "You have somebody stalking you, leaving you threatening presents and notes, calling you at home, and you haven't called the police, you little idiot. This isn't like you, Tessa."
Her eyes narrowed as she said slowly, carefully, "I am not idiot. He doesn't want to hurt me, Ty."
"Handcuffs? You don't think that's threatening?" Tyson drawled, shaking his head.
No. She thought it was exciting.
Handcuffed to a bed, maybe even blindfolded, while a man ran knowing hands over her body? While he fucked her from behind, slapping at her ass...Tessa felt her nipples tighten, and through the silk of her shirt, she knew Tyson could see it as well. Her cleft was aching again, and dripping. She could feel the cream soaking through her panties and had an image of the mystery man sitting beside her, sliding his hand high up her thigh, dragging his fingers through her wet folds, caressing her clit while carrying on a conversation.
She shook her head and opened smoky eyes to stare into Tyson's face. His face was tight and grim. Slowly, he stood, tossing some bills down on the table. "I need to get back to the office," he said quietly, the rage throbbing in his voice. "And I think you need to figure out what you want in life. If it's me, then you're going to go home like a good little girl, gather up all those letters and take them to the police."
He came closer and lowered his head to whisper in her ear, "And for God's sake, have some dignity. You look like you're ready to get fucked right here."
Her face flamed as he walked away. She was certain everybody was staring at her, but when she glanced around, no one seemed to be watching her. She waited until her breathing slowed and then she stood up, leaving a few extra ones on the table.
Tyson was one of the area's most respected physicians, a gifted cardiologist who repaired the damage done to the human heart with his own surgical skills and the help of modern medicine.
But when it came to understanding the human heart, the man was clueless.