Series: A Story of Submission #1
Also in this series: The Delicious Torment, Wrapped Around Your Finger
Published by Cleis Press on October 11, 2013
Genres: BDSM, Erotica, Fiction, General, Romance
Also by this author: Never Say Never, The Delicious Torment, Flying High: Sexy Stories from the Mile High Club , Those Girls, Those Boys
ARC provided by Cleis Press
' I knew what I wanted - I didn't need a man with a positive future prospects or a rich daddy. I needed someone who could look at me and see who I really was. Someone who wouldn't laugh or scowl or turn away in disgust when I confessed my darkest fantasies. Someone who had a brush, and a belt, and a set of cuffs and was not afraid to use them.'
Take a deep breath and get your safe word handy: Alison Tyler will push your boundaries to their limits-and have you begging for more.
This book touched me, in some secret place. Dark Secret Love takes us all over Alison’s beginning. Introducing the characters, setting the scene, and then pushing boundaries. It’s just sex and then it really isn’t. This book is about a woman coming into her own. It isn’t typical falling in love and one girl, one guy. This felt real, this felt like an admission. Her intro was perfect. It is a whirlwind of pleasure and pain. I would have made the same choices and suffered the same. Alison Tyler gives us her story, as much as she was able to give. The writing is stellar. Alison Tyler is able to re-create a scene making you feel like you are right there, inside her head. The details surround you as she describes her intro into BDSM and her beginnings as a writer. I fell for every trick right along with Samantha. I swooned when Samantha said she was ready for Jack.
“Take off your clothes.”
The tone of his voice did not allow any hesitation. With fumbling hands, I slid the dress over my head. Let him see that I had on a matching bra and panty set, and the stockings he’d admired in the garage under the bar. And those silly, useless high heels.
“All of your clothes.”
I had to bend down to untie the shoes and slip them off. Bra and panties next, then stockings. I was entirely naked, pressed up against that white wall, waiting for Jack’s next move. Turns out, he only moved very slightly, to slide open the glass door to the balcony.
I looked at him, and I know my eyes were begging.
Tell me. Tell me what you’re going to do. So I can prepare myself. So I can process the possibilities ahead of time.
“Out,” he repeated, more sternly, and I walked through the opening and out onto the small balcony. He didn’t have anything extraneous here. No potted plants. No sports gear. Just a small table and two chairs, where I could imagine that he might drink coffee in the morning, or his whiskey at night.
You think Jack went out there with me. You think he fucked me on the balcony, his test for this evening simply the fact that I would obey him, that I would go nude outside, where people might look up and see me—although, look up from where? Street level was too far down. Nearby buildings were all offices. Would anyone still be working at this hour?
Jack slid the door closed behind me, and when I turned, immediately, those wordless thoughts of begging for information now finally reaching my lips, he was gone. I was out there on his balcony, in the dusky lavender light.
And I was all by myself.
I cupped my hands and looked into the condo, thinking that Jack might be on the sofa, watching me, or maybe over at the bar, refilling our drinks. No. There was no Jack. I wondered what he expected me to do. Should I sit down on one of the chairs, put my feet up on the table, act nonchalant, as if I sunbathed nude—in the dark—every night of the week. But Jack would know better. He had my fantasies pegged. He knew that there was very little in my world that I was nonchalant about. Being naked, and exposed, was not one of those things.
The view from his balcony was mesmerizing. As night began to fall, the lights of Sunset took on their vibrant gleam. L.A.’s constant melody of traffic noise lulled me. I stared down at the cars, wondering where their passengers were headed. To the fancy restaurants or clubs on the strip? Or out to the beach, along the curves of this classic Boulevard.
A chill ran through me, and I wrapped my arms even more tightly around my naked body. How long would he leave me here? I wondered suddenly whether he’d even locked the door. Perhaps, he’d simply slid the glass shut behind me, and the test was whether or not I was smart enough to think to slide the door back open.
But somehow I knew. That door was locked. And I also knew that trying to open it up, and failing, would send me over the edge.
I didn’t have a watch. The only way I could tell that time was passing was by the sky. Darker now. Darker by the second. Crispness in the air.
“Oh, god, Jack. How long are you going to leave me out here?”
I was speaking out loud, the sound of my voice shocking to my ears. Would he make me sleep out here? Would he leave me all night? What was he waiting for? Did he want me to show him how strong and brave I was? Or did he expect me to break down, to grovel, to go on my knees on the balcony floor and supplicate myself to him? And what would it matter if I did? He wouldn’t see me. He wasn’t in the room.
Tears started at some point. I was feeling sorry for myself. Here, I’d had an idea of what Jack would do to me, and I was hopeful that his fantasies would match my own. But now, he had thrown me off balance. While I had been planning on steeling myself, taking whatever he had to give, showing him my strength, he had been planning on exposing my weaknesses.
Pacing calmed me. From one end of the patio, to the other, my arms crossed over my chest, as ever, my hair in my eyes, head down. Back and forth, never stopping to look into the room to see if he had come back. Never sitting on the chair, or the table. Not bothering to look back at the view. The darkness of the sky was heavy. A weight over me. I kept walking. My feet were cold. My whole body was cold. My lips were cold. The tears streaking my cheeks were touched by the soft breeze in the air.
But this wasn’t right. He didn’t want me to pace like a caged animal. Not really, did he? He must have been waiting for me to understand. Waiting for me to get the test. To make sense of it. My mind worked rapidly. Furiously. And yet I was at a loss. What did he want?
And then suddenly, a light came on in the living room. He was sitting on the sofa, and he’d turned on the light next to him. The golden glow looked warm and inviting. How long had he been sitting there? Could he see me out of the window? Or did the glow in the room create a mirrored effect, and was he only looking at his own reflection?
I hesitated, then walked toward the glass. And then went on my knees, and from my knees to my belly. Head down. Not looking at him. Not even guessing anymore how long he’d leave me out here. But letting him know—I hoped—that I would stay without screaming, without pounding on the door, without making a scene. I would stay as long as he required.
That’s all he’d asked for.
And I did.
I couldn’t put this book down. I devoured this book and then went back for more.
Is this real? I sure hope so. It is, in a word.. perfect.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This book was written (and maybe mostly lived through) by the Queen of Kink, Alison Tyler. ALISON TYLER draws on twenty-five years of penning sultry stories to create a scorchingly hot work of fiction, a memoir-inspired novel with reality at its core. She is the trollop with a laptop that has penned twenty-five explicit novels including Banging Rebecca, The Delicious Torment, Wrapped Around Your Finger (soon to be released), and has edited about 50 collections. Her stories appear in over 100 anthologies, including this one. She knows kink. She speaks submission. I recommend this book, and almost everything this Alison touches, wholeheartedly.
Thanks to Cleis Press for sending me this book to review.