Show and Tell: A Forbidden Flowers Story Read online

  Show and Tell

  A Forbidden Flowers Story

  Donya Lynne

  Show and Tell©

  Forbidden Flowers, book 7

  Published by Phoenix Press LLC

  Copyright 2020 Donya Lynne

  Cover by Megyn Ward, MW Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-938991-55-4

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to others. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].

  References to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Books by Donya Lynne

  Find Me

  Prologue

  Jenna removed the red dress from the hanger and held it in front of her, admiring her reflection in the mirror. She never used to wear red. In fact, she never used to wear dresses. Maybe a skirt suit to work, but never a dress.

  But like everything else, he had known both the dress and the color would look good on her.

  She lowered the exquisite garment and gazed at her nudity. Her fingertips caressed the supple swell of her breast, circling her nipple. She imagined it was him touching her. She had come to crave his touch. The touch of a man whose face she had never seen.

  But she would have known his touch anywhere.

  She slid the dress over her head, sans undergarments, just as he had instructed. Jenna knew not to disobey him. If she did, he would punish her. Not that she didn’t like his punishments. And sometimes she intentionally provoked him so that he would punish her. But tonight was special. Tonight, if she pleased him, he might finally reveal his face.

  She was already deliriously wet at the thought of what the evening would bring. What erotic surprise did he have in store for her? Would he humiliate her again? Make her crawl on all fours? Tie her up and gag her?

  Each time she was with him, he pushed her further, testing her boundaries and, in some cases, shattering them. Such as the first time he made her come in a room full of people. The others’ attention had been elsewhere—on a submissive being worked over on a St. Andrew’s Cross—but he had taken the opportunity to drag her to the back of the room, press her against the wall, slip his hand between her legs, and finger her to completion while pulling the bodice of her dress to one side, exposing her breast.

  And she had let him. She had practically begged for it.

  Jenna still got weak in the knees when she thought about it. She’d never been more sexually excited than he’d gotten her that night.

  She shivered with anticipation, her nipples hardening into tight pebbles that poked against the thin, buttery-smooth fabric covering her breasts.

  This was what he did to her.

  This was the effect he had over not just her body, but her soul.

  She was his.

  He owned her, because he owned her mind.

  And he had since that very first phone call.

  Chapter One

  Dr. O’s Office . . .

  As a psychologist specializing in women’s sexual health, I thought I’d heard it all. Then steamy romance novelist Jenna Spencer sent me an email asking to be interviewed for my upcoming book.

  It was past the deadline for applications, but with a subject line that read “The best sex of my life was with a man I’ve never seen,” I had to make an exception.

  “Are you ready?” she asks, sitting across from me in faded blue jeans that hug her supple curves, a sheer floral button-front blouse over a white cami, and red leather Christian Louboutin slingback sandals. She’s slender and petite, with dark-brown hair, large espresso eyes, naturally pouty lips, and an adorably upturned nose.

  She doesn’t look a day over twenty-three, but I know from the form she filled out for me that she just turned twenty-eight.

  I usually spend time before each interview making small talk to put the subject at ease. I find that most women need a little encouragement to speak candidly about their intimate experiences, but Jenna needs no hand-holding. She walked through the door ready to get right to it. And while my jaw dropped more than once while I read her completed questionnaire, I don’t want to preempt her story by asking all the questions swimming through my mind. I need to hear this particular story from beginning to end in her own words, without interruption.

  I start my digital recorder and set it on the small table between us.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Chapter Two

  Jenna’s Story . . .

  Seated at her desk with a cup of tea to her left and a bowl of untouched trail mix to her right, Jenna’s fingers danced over her keyboard at lightning speed. She was almost finished with the draft of her next book, at the point in her manuscript where all the layers, conflicts, and plotlines she had been developing and weaving around one another for the first two-thirds of the book began to come together. This was the point in the draft stage when words really began to flow, sometimes too quickly for her to keep up.

  With a loud smack of wood on flesh, the paddle connected with Josephine’s ass. Her cheeks burned as if seared with hot metal. Just the movement of air against her bared skin as Master paced back and forth behind her was intolerable.

  Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes as she pressed them closed and bit more forcefully into the ball gag to keep from crying out as he spanked her again. Master had commanded her not to make a sound, and she knew better than to disobey him.

  The paddle struck the back of her thighs a moment later, and she nearly lost control of her bladder at the shock of pain that made her entire body shudder.

  But pain meant pleasure, and as deeply as she relished both, Master never held back on either.

  Master Delano was what she’d always wanted—needed—in a Dom, and gratitude filled her heart. She’d finally found a Master who could satisfy her desires.

  When he landed the next blow on the brutalized cheeks of her ass again, she threw back her head and almost gave in to the scream clawing at her vocal cords. The spreader holding her legs open rattled, as did the chains he had hooked to leather cuffs around her wrists, suspending her from the ceiling.

  Except for a trembling exhale, Josephine didn’t make a peep. She knew he was pushing her, trying to break her, as he had broken all the submissives he’d trained before her. But she would not break. She would hold in her scream and prove to him that she was worthy. Worthy to be on his arm inside the club, worthy of his flogger . . . and worthy of his collar.

  Master Delano had never collared a submissive. Not once in twenty years. He was known for it. His stalwart refusal to take on a permanent submissive had become his calling card, like a brand he no longer had to promote, because word of mouth alone was enough to advertise who and what he was.

  But now that Josephine had found him—her true Master—she could never accept another. He was
it. The one. And she would leave her mark on this world by earning his collar even if it destroyed her.

  If she failed, she would leave the lifestyle and never set foot in a sex club again. It would devastate her, but she would rather walk away from the lifestyle altogether than endure it without him.

  * * *

  Delano circled his new submissive, pleased when she lowered her tear-filled gaze from his as he strolled in front of her. He’d only been working with her for two months, and already she exceeded his expectations.

  Not only was she stunningly beautiful and everything he’d ever imagined his ideal woman would be, but she was also willful. He could see the inner strength and power in her eyes. And yet, she was blissfully compliant to his demands.

  The combination created an intoxicating cocktail Delano could never quite get enough of. Just when he thought he’d reached her limit, she moved it further away from his grasp.

  He swiped his thumb through the wet tracks down her face, then slid the tip into his mouth and sucked off her tears.

  Josephine was a headstrong woman. Harder to break than most of the subs he had trained, yet still eager to please, which made her that much more intriguing.

  Subs who broke too soon bored him. It was why his relationships never lasted more than seven or eight months, maybe a year at the most. He liked the challenge a woman like Josephine presented. She wanted the pain and domination he was eager to provide, but she didn’t want to simply give herself up to a man who hadn’t earned her complete submission, not just in body, but in soul.

  He would earn it. And when he did, he would collar her.

  He had never wanted to collar a submissive before, but Josephine was different. She was spirited, exciting, and intelligent. Witty and forthright. And while she ruled the corporate world with an iron fist, she enthusiastically gave herself to him in the playroom, allowing him to use her body any way he wanted. Nothing appeared to be off limits with her, and he often felt as though she were silently demanding him—domming him, as it were—to give it his best shot.

  The silent challenge—the pure obstinance that she would not give him the satisfaction of breaking down—drove him wild and aroused him so intensely that he sometimes worried he would come the moment he entered her.

  Just who was domming whom here? He was the Master, and yet he regularly felt completely under her spell. She enthralled him in ways words couldn’t express, and he wanted her to be his in every way.

  He closed the distance between them, removed the ball gag, then clamped his palm between her legs, letting two fingers slick her front to back before sliding inside her. Her resulting high-pitched gasp and the way her legs and stomach quivered made his dick throb.

  “Whose pussy is this?” he demanded, teasing her most precious flesh.

  She breathed heavily, highly aroused given the way her juices slicked his fingers. “Yours.” As she said it, her gaze briefly met his, allowing him to see the fire in her eyes he admired and coveted so deeply, then quickly dropped to the floor again.

  He tsked. “Bad girl. You know you’re not to look at me.”

  She nodded. “Yes, Master.”

  He withdrew his hand and pinched her swollen clit before taking a step back. “You know when you look at me, I have to punish you.”

  Her head bowed farther. “Yes, Master.”

  “What am I going to do with such a bad little girl?” He rounded the rack and stared at her inflamed, crimson ass. The round handle of the plug he’d inserted in her anus protruded from between her cheeks. He grazed the raw, bruised cheeks with his fingernails, delighting in the way her body tensed and trembled.

  “One would think you’ve had enough punishment for tonight.”

  But he knew the truth. She loved his punishment as much as he did. Their playtime wouldn’t be nearly as much fun for either of them if she behaved.

  Taking out his hard cock, he pressed up behind her. “I’m going to show you what happens to bad little girls who don’t follow the rules, Josephine.”

  Before she could make a sound, he yanked out the anal plug and thrust his cock inside her stretched entrance.

  Yes, the punishment was the best part, and her silent provocations made it immensely more enjoyable.

  Jenna’s hands rested on her keyboard as she reread the last passage. It wasn’t perfect. First drafts rarely were. That was what editing was for. But the story didn’t have to be perfect for her to know that she and her vibrator were going to have a hot date later.

  She leaned back in her chair and fanned herself, enjoying the breeze blowing through the open window next to her desk. It might have been early summer, but the nights were still cool and refreshing. And with her body’s thermostat warming up, she would take all the help she could get to turn down the heat.

  By day Jenna was a paralegal for one of the top firms in New York. At night and on weekends, she ditched the suits and high heels, pulled on her “writing clothes”—basically, pajamas and fuzzy slippers—and became Lillian Bangs, author of hot romance that gets you wet.

  Social life? Who had time for that? This was New York, where the movers and shakers never slept. And like Sinatra said, if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere.

  And Jenna planned on making it. She had big dreams, and futzing around going to parties and dating wasn’t going to make those dreams come true. Hard work, discipline, determination, and hands on the keyboard and butt in the chair—or HOKBIC, as she called it—was how she would bring her dreams into reality.

  And she was well on her way.

  She already earned more from her writing than she did from her day job. But until she paid off her student loans and book royalties tripled her paralegal salary, which was just under seventy-five thousand a year, she wouldn’t even think about becoming a full-time writer. She had a plan to get herself where she wanted to be, and she figured after five more books, she would be there. Until then, she would double up on her student loan payments, tuck as much as she could into savings, diversify her investments, and stay the course.

  It was a type A plan, but she was a type A personality. Awake at four thirty in the morning, full workout by five thirty, out the door by six thirty, and at her desk ready to work by seven thirty. After putting in a full day at the office, she came home and worked on her books until ten o’clock, then went to bed. Rinse and repeat.

  Except on weekends. She worked until after midnight on Friday and Saturday nights, when she didn’t have to get up before dawn the next day.

  And today was Friday. For the next forty-eight hours, she worked for Lillian Bangs LLC.

  She absently grabbed her cup of tea and took a sip . . . and immediately spit it back into the cup. Ew, cold. She hadn’t been working that long, had she?

  She checked the time. Almost nine. She’d been writing for two hours. Where had the time gone?

  That was what happened when she wrote. What felt like one hour turned into three or four. But wasn’t that how time passed when you were having fun?

  With at least three more hours of writing ahead of her, cold tea wouldn’t do.

  What coffee was to some people, hot tea was to Jenna. She thought better, plotted better, envisioned her characters better . . . simply because she had a cup of tea by her side. And how could she be expected to make Josephine and Delano fall in love and have hot sex with cold tea? Cold tea equaled cold sex, and she couldn’t afford to have cold sex on the pages of her next novel. Cold sex chilled readers, and chilled readers didn’t buy books.

  Pushing away from the small, thrift-store writing desk that was situated next to her living room window, where she could overlook the tree-shaded park across the street, she grabbed her teacup, then headed to the kitchen.

  After dumping the dregs of cold tea down the drain, she grabbed another teabag of Constant Comment, then refilled her teapot and set it on the stove. While the water heated, she dug an Oreo from the ceramic jar in the corner next to the refrigerator, leaned against
the counter, and crunched into the two black wafers and smooth, creamy center.

  If her coworkers knew what she did every night after work and all weekend, they would shit in their ergonomic chairs.

  Not that Lillian Bangs had the kind of following Nora Roberts did, but she had a growing and loyal fan base that devoured everything she wrote. And she knew for a fact that two of the other paralegals at the firm read her books. She’d heard Meredith and Brandi talking about them in the break room one Monday morning several months ago as she had been putting her lunch bag in the refrigerator.

  And given all the hushed giggles and face-fanning that had been going on between them, they had enjoyed what they’d read.

  “Did you read the new Lillian Bangs book over the weekend?” Meredith had asked.

  Brandi gasped. “Omigod, yes! I couldn’t put it down!”

  They huddled closer together as they fixed their coffee, and Meredith looked around like she was making sure none of the bigwigs were within earshot. “I didn’t even know sex like that was possible.” She leaned closer to Brandi and lowered her voice. “Nick didn’t know what hit him when we went to bed last night. I was so hot, I came three times.”

  “I know, right?” Brandi’s voice was emphatic. “Same with me and Eric.” They drifted toward the door. “I made him do that thing Julian did to Marianne.”

  Julian and Marianne. The hero and heroine of Jenna’s latest book.

  “Which thing?” Meredith asked.

  “The one where he takes her right to the edge, then stops.”