Beauty and Pain Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  New Excerpt

  About the Authors

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Beauty and Pain

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-984-2

  ©Copyright Harlem Dae 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright February 2014

  Edited by Sarah Smeaton

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Taboo and a Sexometer of 3.

  A Bit of Strange

  BEAUTY AND PAIN

  Harlem Dae

  Book one in the A Bit of Strange series

  If a beautiful stranger offered pain of the erotic variety, would you be able to resist?

  When Isabella catches the eye of a handsome fellow commuter on the daily grind into London, she can’t help but fantasize about all the dirty things they could do together. The fact that they are strangers only adds to her seedy desires and wicked wantonness. How amazing would it be to have such a man bend her to his will and take her to the dizzy heights of ecstasy she longs to go to?

  Fortunately for her, things soon heat up between them and before she knows it, his dominant layers are revealed and he shows her a way to combine the perfect slice of agony with the most dazzling of encounters that has her muffling her screams for more, more, more. My God, it’s just the way she likes it—were they meant to travel this journey together?

  Every good thing must end, however, but will there be a second round? Or is Gabriel nothing more than a ship that crosses her path for a one-time experience? Isabella’s not sure. She’s in it for the fun, but is he?

  Dedication

  For Victor Partridge and Zara Watson

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  VW Beetle: Volkswagen Group

  Audi: Audi AG

  Cadbury’s: Cadbury Enterprises pte Limited

  Boy Scout: The Scout Association

  Chapter One

  Every morning was the same routine, except for weekends, when I didn’t have to get up at stupid o’clock to catch a train to work. Monday to Friday saw me wishing I could do something different—so different that if my colleagues or friends heard about it they’d possibly think I’d gone insane. I wanted… I wanted a man, plain and simple. A stranger who wouldn’t see me as a brazen tart if I approached him in public and made it clear that I wanted to have sex with him. A stranger who’d desperately want to see me again after our first fuck, beg me to meet him at the same time the next day. Until we were together again I would become his everything, dominate his thoughts, hold his desires harnessed.

  Did such a man exist?

  Did I have the courage to go and find out?

  Had I already met him without knowing?

  These were questions that spun web-like in my mind. But I wanted clarity. I wanted answers, so today I was going to pay a bit more attention to what I wore and see if that kick-started my luck.

  I needed something alluring, a red skirt a little shorter than I’d usually wear to the office, a flash of stocking lace visible, perhaps even the suspender clips. A black chemise, with lace on that, too, just above my breasts, the kind that would make a man wonder if I had a bra on underneath. I slipped on black stilettos then turned to look at my calves to make sure my stocking seams were straight.

  Perfect.

  I secured my hair on my crown in a loose bun with tendrils hanging around my face. I thought of the coming train journey and how, even though it was winter, the bright sun, as it streaked through the window, would highlight the blonde. My makeup didn’t take long. I went for the understated look—a thin covering of foundation, light brown dusting on my eyelids, one sweep of the mascara brush per set of lashes and a faint tinge of red on my lips.

  Downstairs in the kitchen I poured a coffee. With my backside pressing against a cupboard, I sipped my drink and thought about the scenarios I’d envisaged so many times before. Life rarely reflected my fantasies these days, but nevertheless I looked forward to seeing just what would happen when I approached the man I’d been ogling for the past two months.

  Could he be the man of my sordid dreams?

  Oh, he was very different physically from my last lover, Ian, who had been a dab hand with the tools of the trade, but sadly his roving eye had meant he hadn’t been a keeper.

  This bloke, though, I didn’t care if he was a keeper or not. He was a stranger and that was the way my fantasies had headed of late. A little dangerous maybe, but hey, I could never be accused of having boring daydreams. They always hung on the edge of extreme—it was my favorite place to be.

  He didn’t wear a wedding ring, this new man, but that didn’t mean anything these days, did it? He traveled alone, boarding and getting off at the same places I did every morning. He’d glanced at me a few times, but if I’d ever caught him staring it hadn’t appeared to bother him. He’d stared harder, if anything, until I’d been the one to look away.

  Today I wouldn’t.

  I glanced at the time, startled to see it was bordering on seven thirty. I tipped my remaining coffee into the sink, shrugged on my long black winter coat, slung the handle of my bag over my shoulder then left the house.

  October was a strange month, all frost with a mean bite, the wind sometimes so fierce it stung my face. Thankfully the pavements weren’t slippery this morning, so my choice of shoes hadn’t been a bad idea. I got into my car, a trusty red VW Beetle I’d had for years, and peeled away from the curb, destination the train station. On the way there, I entertained myself with thoughts of the man and how he was in for the surprise of his life today—providing he was single and everything went to plan. Perhaps he was driving to the station, too, an Audi or a convertible of some sort his vehicle of choice. Black, yes, it would be black, new, to match his crisp suits, and he’d drive like the wind so he didn’t miss the train.

  So he didn’t miss seeing me.

  That was a nice thought, him feeling the same about me as I did about him. He’d given no indication that he wanted to fuck me, his glances more along the lines of eyeing the goods but maybe not wanting to eat them. But, God, how I wanted him to eat me.

  I pulled into the station car park and got out to surreptitiously look around for black Audis and convertibles. There weren’t any, of course there weren’t,
but it was fun all the same. After making sure my parking permit was showing on the dashboard, I secured my car and walked toward the payment windows. There were small queues, perhaps three or four people in each, and I tagged onto the end of one and stared around some more.

  He wasn’t in any of them.

  A swift gust of wind slapped one side of my head, sending loose strands of my hair whipping across my face. I reached up to shift them, momentarily blinded as I fought to tuck them behind my ear.

  “Here, let me do that?” a man asked.

  I turned to find him standing behind me. All six feet of him towered there, and he looked down with a quirk to his lips and his dark eyebrows raised in question. I blinked to cover my shock, making sure I didn’t let my mouth hang open. I struggled to find anything remotely sexy to say—after all, hadn’t his offer been a sexy one? Intimate? People didn’t ask if they could touch your hair if they didn’t know you, did they?

  But he does know me. Sort of.

  My stomach churned with the kind of excitement all my dreams coming true at once brought. I swallowed, hoping the nerves I suddenly felt weren’t displayed on my face.

  He was so bloody beautiful. Eyes darker than the most taboo sin, the stubble on his chin just as dark. His lips were a color between red and pink, not scarlet or rose or anything I could put a name to. He appeared to have broken his nose at some point, although it wasn’t so skewed as to make it obvious, and with a rigid jaw and a look to him that spoke of a man who could stand up for himself if he had the need, I thought he might be a boxer.

  “Or would that be considered too forward?” he asked. “You know, me taking that hair…” He held up one hand, finger and thumb poised as though he itched to sweep the hair away.

  “No, no,” I managed. “You can take it if you want.”

  Take it in your hand and wrap it around your fist, tug it hard, make my head do what I’ve fantasized it would do.

  He reached out and brushed my face free of stray strands with his fingertips, his skin dusting over mine and sending my knees weak.

  “That’s better, I can see you now,” he said, hand lingering mid-air.

  His voice was one that could send a girl insane with want, need, and every other sexual emotion all at once. Like the darkness of his eyes, it reeled me in, coaxing me to respond.

  “Thank you,” I said, annoyed that nothing else had come out. I wanted to say so many things, had rehearsed them time and time again until I knew every scenario off by heart. But this scenario—no, I hadn’t dreamt of this one.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he said, lowering his hand back to his side. “You know, touch you in some way. But you don’t do that kind of thing, do you? At least I don’t.”

  “But you just did,” I said, sounding out of breath. And I was. It was proving difficult to draw air in.

  “I did, and I don’t regret it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Someone coughed. “Next!”

  I swiveled to see the ticket line had diminished and a large gap yawned between me and the payment window. I wished I could say ‘fuck the damn ticket, I’m just talking to this man here’, but I dutifully approached the window and apologized. I paid, received my stub then turned to find the man had gone. I glanced about, hoping to spot him in another queue, but he wasn’t in any of them. Deflated, yet eager to seek him out again, I rushed to the platform around the corner of the ticket kiosk and looked from left to right.

  There he was, sitting in his usual place on a red metal seat, all long limbed and broad shouldered, his legs sticking out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He seemed at ease as he held a newspaper and read it, although I liked to think that he wasn’t taking any of the words in. That he was thinking about me instead.

  Usually I remained standing on the platform, wanting to beat the mad dash when the train arrived and avoid being crushed. To get my pick of seating near a window so I could gaze out and daydream. Today, though, today was going to be different.

  I walked toward his bench. A gust of wind sallied along, whistling through a wire mesh refuse bin, jostling its contents before attacking his newspaper. He battled to keep it from crumpling or being blown out of his hands and must have decided he was going to lose the fight. He folded it as best he could then tucked it beneath one arm. I imagined him thinking that he’d read it when he was settled on the train.

  I had plans to distract him from reading.

  I sat beside him then hooked one leg over the other, letting my coat fall open so he could get a good eyeful of my exposed thigh, knee and shin. A sneaky look down confirmed that the lace of my stocking top could be seen if only he’d lean across a bit and take a peek. I placed my hands in my lap, entwining my fingers, and studied him.

  He was staring at me—not at my legs as I’d hoped, but my face.

  “Well, hello again,” he said. “I thought you’d have been standing over there like you always do.”

  “Why would I, now that I have someone to talk to?”

  That had been the best I could come out with at this point. My lungs were tight, as though being this close to him had rendered them useless, and I willed myself to breathe normally, to appear a woman in control of her emotions. And perhaps I did appear that way. He wasn’t to know that my heart was hammering wildly and my mouth had gone dry, that I’d never done anything like this before in my life and hadn’t ever thought I would. But there I was, sitting as close to him as I dared, our thighs almost touching, the tops of our arms an inch or so apart. If I tilted my head I could rest my cheek there, feel the softness of his suit. It would be cold, what with the weather, but would soon warm up.

  “Fair point,” he said. “So, I’m going to be forward again. Is there any reason why you’re dressed so…differently today?”

  I didn’t answer on purpose. I was too busy gazing into his eyes and waiting to hear what he’d say next.

  “You’re usually in trouser suits, aren’t you, or at least a longer skirt,” he said.

  So he had been watching me, then.

  “Today,” I said, “I wanted to put something on that made me feel sexy.” I could hardly believe I’d repeated one of the lines out of my fantasies, but I had and it hadn’t been so bad at all. I decided to push on. “You know, to see if it would make you take notice.” I’d laid my interest in him bare and could only hope he didn’t think me too shameless, too bold.

  “I’d notice you whatever you had on.”

  If someone else had said that I might have thought it was a standard pick-up line, designed to make me fall at his feet. I’d already fallen a long time ago, but those words, as they’d spilled from his lips, had sounded…right. Sincere.

  “Oh really?” I asked, surprised.

  “Really. There’s something about you. You stand out from everyone else. As though you think things that would shock.” He paused and smiled. “Did you know that when you’re on the train and you’re looking out of the window, you bite your bottom lip sometimes? I’ve often wondered what makes you do that, what you’re thinking, and I always come up with something risqué.”

  Now that wasn’t a word I expected a man to use, but then he did have a refined air about him, as though he might well have swallowed a dictionary between rounds in the ring, and when speaking he dipped into the vast well of vocabulary and selected ones that stood out.

  “Risqué,” I said, loving the way it had rolled off my tongue. “Perhaps I do think things like that.”

  “Do you?” He lifted his eyebrows then cocked his head, urging me to go on.

  “I do.”

  “Ah, I thought so. And would you care to share those things with a fellow traveler? It’ll give me something to think about other than my own risqué thoughts.”

  “You’ve never given me the impression you think naughty things,” I said, a little shocked at his revelation but trying to hide it.

  “You’d be surprised. Even more surprised if I admitted they were
all about you.”

  Again, I could have thought he was stringing me along, saying things that he thought I wanted to hear, but he stared at me with such a genuinely serious expression that I could do nothing but believe he’d meant everything he’d said.

  I mulled over what he’d asked. “I could share them,” I said, offering him what I hoped was a sexy smile. “But I’d much rather show you.”

  Chapter Two

  The train chose that moment to rudely interrupt us, bringing with it a different kind of wind that smelled of oil and machinery. It shot into the station then came to a laborious halt, as if it hadn’t wanted to stop at all. Commuters surged forward, briefcases and handbags getting knocked here, there and everywhere, toes stepped on and arms getting squashed. I rose at the same time as the man and as though we’d prearranged it, we waited for the crowd to disperse before we stepped forward.

  As usual, none of the cabins I could see were empty—rush hour was a bitch and messing with my needs—and I resigned myself to accepting that I might not get my fuck on a train after all. Still, it would be nice to sit with him, get to know him a bit, and continue with our saucy conversation. It would beat staring out of the window as the scenery whooshed by any day.

  We boarded, my thigh brushing his, and while I glanced about for signs of two empty seats, I fought to hold back the blush our slight connection had produced. He walked down the aisle, looking back briefly to see if I followed, then moved on again. He paused to let a woman stow her bag in a hanging rack above her seat, and I bumped into him. My breasts were squashed on his back, my pelvis just below the tight swell of his arse, and I stayed there for a second or two, reveling in the warmth of his body heat, the intimacy.

  “Oh, sorry,” I said, not sorry at all.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t be. I rather like it.”

  Sadly, the woman finished blocking the aisle and we were able to pass. I strained my neck to see ahead, noting there were several empty seats but none of them together. Disappointment had a good go at dampening my excitement, but I brightened up by consoling myself that we could sit on those two seats just there, the ones either side of the aisle.