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Fantasy Follies (MF)

Siren-BookStrand, Inc.

Heat Rating: SEXTREME
Word Count: 81,734
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[Siren Classic: Erotic Contemporary Romance, light Consensual BDSM]

Rhiannon is a librarian with a secret. Underneath her prim and proper shell, she’s alive with passionate fantasies ranging from being pleasured by a well-oiled servant to being ordered into erotic obedience by a hot cop.

When Rhiannon agrees to go on a date with Sam, a corporate lawyer type, she dreads the evening. She’s expecting to be bored out of her mind, but as they frequent art galleries and share laughs, Sam surprises her by revealing how much he, too, shares in her spirit of imagination and fun.

As they become closer, Sam indulges her fantasies by creating provocative sexual scenarios in downtown Cincinnati, using props and their own wild imaginations. For the first time, Rhiannon begins to feel how satisfying living in the real world can be.

When Rhiannon is offered a job in Seattle, how will she ever choose between the opportunity of her dreams and the blissful life that once seemed possible only in her fantasies?

Note: This book has been extensively revised. It was previously published under a different title with another publisher.

A Siren Erotic Romance




He’d been mostly to blame for the somber mood in the car. Even if she did plan on leaving for Seattle—and who knew if she really would go?—there was no reason to be unpleasant.

If they were only meant to have a summer romance, then he could accept it. But he rather liked the idea of trying to persuade her not to leave.

She smiled shyly. “Thank you.” She fetched a heavy sigh and fell back against the leather seat. Her brow, knotted with tension, relaxed, and it wasn’t until this moment he realized how much tension she’d been carrying inside her. She looked as if she too would have preferred to spend the evening lounging poolside with a drink.

He gazed curiously at her. “Don’t you think you look nice?”

“Oh, sure,” she said with a negligent wave of the hand. “I know I look completely appropriate for this shindig.”

He grinned. “Completely appropriate, eh?” He fingered the hem of the dress between his thumb and forefinger. “What is this frock you’re wearing, anyway?”

“Oh.” She laughed. “What do you know about fashion, anyway?” She was trying to keep it light, he knew, but he detected the tension in her voice.

“Well, I am a man, and I can tell what you’re wearing is expensive—”

“It only looks expensive,” she hastened to assure him. “This is vintage.”

“I thought vintage was expensive?” Despite his lingering tension, he was starting to relax just the tiniest bit himself. He rather enjoyed engaging in repartee with her. She had no idea how hot she looked when she got haughty with him.

“I know a secret store where the vintage clothing goes for discount prices,” she boasted with a lofty toss of the head, “and I’ll have you know, this is a Lilly Pulitzer summer dress in pistachio, and the belt is tangerine.” She fingered the cardigan. “And this tangerine cardigan is also a Lilly Pulitzer original.”

“So,” he said, warming to the challenge, “you’re not wearing ordinary, boring, pedestrian colors like green and orange?” He pointed to her green sandals. “And don’t tell me, this is Lilly Pulitzer too, right?”

“No, of course not!” She flared, her blue eyes flashing with merriment.

He smiled.

“For your information, wise guy,” she said, scooting over to his side of the car, “these pistachio espadrilles were on a buy-two-get-one-free special at Payless!”

Oh, he simply couldn’t resist. Affecting a look of great innocence, he asked, “Why would someone want to buy two shoes and get a third shoe free? Do women buy shoes in threes these days?”

“Oh, you’re being a jerk!” She laughed, climbing onto his lap. “I meant one of those deals where you buy two pairs of shoes and get one pair of shoes free!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said with an admonishing finger, “if you’re planning to be with me, woman, you’d better make sure you speak clearly!”

“Oh, yeah!” she challenged him.

“Yeah!” And then he laughed. He slid his hands around her slender waist. She brought her forehead down to his and they laughed until they wept.

“I thought—” she choked out. “I really considered adding a headband, but—”

“But that would be too too!” he joked, affecting the ostentatious demeanor of a gay clothing designer. “After all, we can’t be too matchy-matchy, can we?”

“No!” She laughed through her tears. “No need to overplay the look!”

They laughed again.

“Although,” he said, resuming his normal voice, “I must say, I like the addition of the pearls.” He gently fingered one nearly translucent pearl at her throat.

“I’m channeling Jackie Kennedy,” she admitted, abashed. “Although I did almost take the pearls off.”


“Oh, I already look like a Kennedy wife, no need to go beyond the pale into Stepford territory.”

“Ah,” he said, “I see.”

“I’m dressed, in short, like the perfect corporate wife.”

“You look plain perfect to me,” he said.

“Not bad, huh?” She grinned. “Not too bad for a farm girl from Greenville, Ohio.”

“These pearls,” Sam murmured, stroking her neck, “are real.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice hitching.

“Did your mother give these pearls to you?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but could say nothing. She merely nodded and put her head on his shoulder.

“Oh, Rhiannon,” he murmured, “oh, Rhiannon.”

He held her close to him, rubbing her back, murmuring soothing words. “They look so beautiful on you,” he said. “And I do know this about pearls.”

“What?” she asked, gazing at him.

“The more a woman wears her pearls, the more translucent they become against her skin.” He traced his fingers along her neck. “You need to wear these pearls every chance you get, understand?”

Smiling through her tears, she nodded.

He rubbed his thumb along her mascara-streaked cheek. “Your makeup’s ruined.”

“I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but a beautiful mess.” He glanced up at the house. “You know,” he said slowly, “we don’t have to do this thing.”

She started, surprised. “Really? But I thought it was kind of important for you to attend.”

He drew his hand across his brow. “Yeah,” he mused. “I suppose it is. Especially if I want to be invited to join the firm when I finish law school.” He chuckled tiredly. “Trouble is, I’ve been with these people all day long and I’m kind of tired.”

A look of relief washed across her face. She took a deep breath and a shuddering strain of tension dissipated from her shoulders. “You know,” she said slowly, “we don’t have to stay all night long. Just long enough to make an appearance, right?”

He grinned at her. “Right.”

“Well, then. Let’s go.”

They laughed. Sam felt the tension drifting from him as well. Whatever tension had disturbed them had passed. He felt so much easier. And she looked much happier, as well.




In a matter of moments, he stood before her, nude, beautiful. Her gorgeous man, her Sam.

He lifted the duvet cover and slid between the cool, white sheets. She drew herself close to him. He caressed her cheek. “What about these panties? Don’t you need to take them off?”

She grinned. “No, they come with a hatch.” She reached down and unsnapped the protective covering of the panty to reveal her thick, curly thatch of hair.

“Okay,” he said. “Now we’re talking.”

He placed his hands on the inside flesh of her thighs and gently spread her legs apart. With infinite tenderness, he entered her.

Then he did a curious thing. He grew still, silent, not moving inside her for a long moment. She inhaled and held her breath. It reminded her of their make-up sex moment from a few nights earlier, after they resolved their differences and he came to her apartment. Tears of joy and grief crept down her cheeks. They both fell silent. They both grew still. She felt the weight, the power of his cock as it rested inside her, quiescent yet still throbbing with a barely contained energy. It was, she felt, as if they’d become one. She so loved the feeling of his cock inside her, it was the only way she knew to make him a part of herself.

He thrust in and out in a gentle, undulating rhythm as she moved along with him. He put his lips on hers and kissed her fully. She returned in kind, her tongue exploring his mouth. His breath tasted sweet.

They moved together in a seamless motion. They flowed together like a river undulating through a gorge.

Slowly, inexorably, Sam eased his cock in and out.

With every expression inward, she tightened her vaginal muscles to bear down on him, squeezing him. He groaned softly, so she knew it worked. On every outward exhalation, she allowed her muscles to relax. She wondered if she could bring herself to orgasm without moving anything other than her internal muscles. She wondered if it would be a better orgasm.

She was willing to try.

As he eased his cock back inside, she squeezed down and felt a tickling sensation.

“What are you doing?” Sam murmured in her ear.

“A new trick.” She grinned.

“I like it.” He smiled. “Even better than a whip.”

Sam thrust his cock back inside, and as the tip of the shaft touched the upper wall of her vagina, she recalled, bizarrely, a moment from the film Tomb Raider. The scene where Angelina Jolie hops onto the battering ram in the Cambodian Temple as a means of driving the ram to the tip of the demigod’s viscousness-filled belly. With Angelina Jolie riding that ram, giving it direction and a sense of purpose, the character of Lara Croft finally achieved the tipping point on the demigod’s belly. When the ram pricked the demigod’s belly, a whole torrent of fiery green liquid exploded.

The image was so real in her mind that she could feel it, taste it, sense it. That was how she felt in that moment—like that demigod filled with liquid—every time Sam’s cock crested the door of her orgasm. She felt with every thrust as if his cock was reaching for a tipping point inside her. And once he’d breached the point, she’d have her orgasm.

Sam withdrew, and her body shuddered with the removal of his cock from against her supple vaginal walls.

“Get back in.” She gasped.

Sam grinned. “Yes, your highness.”

“Sam,” she said, “did you ever see the first Tomb Raider film, the one starring Angelina Jolie?”

He gazed at her, confused for a moment. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Remember the scene in the temple, when she rides the battering ram?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, still looking confused. “To make the stone gods come to life?”

“Yes, that’s what happened after the ram pierced the point of the vessel holding all the green liquid?”

He cocked his head, gazing with amusement at her. “Are we having a Tomb Raider moment?”

“It’s the imagery flashing up in my mind,” she said. “The moment when the battering ram pierces the vessel and all this green goo comes squirting out.”

Understanding flooded his features. “Oh, I get it!” He grinned. “Am I the battering ram?”

“Seems like.” She chuckled. “And I’m the vessel.”

“Baby, are you ever!” He growled. “Get ready, girlfriend, for the battering ram!” He plunged himself back inside her.

In the same moment, she felt her spot awakening, growing alert, alive. His cockhead butted right up against the spot she needed to be fully alive in order to experience her orgasm.

Again, in her mind’s eye, she thought of the moment when the tip of Angelina Jolie’s ram pierced the viscous green belly of the demigod. One more thrust and she would be there.

Sam pulled out and stopped. He gazed down at her.

“Come on!” she cried. “Get back inside!

“Am I as good-looking as Daniel Craig?”

“What?” she shrieked.

“Am I as good-looking as Daniel Craig? He played Angelina’s love interest in the film.”

“You’re even more gorgeous than Daniel Craig!” she cried. “Now get back inside, dammit!”

He playfully pushed inside then pulled out.

“Now what?”

“Am I as good-looking as the other actor? The guy who played the bad guy? You know, the lawyer?”

“Get back inside me this instant!” she shrieked then let out a raucous laugh. “Or else I’ll ram you into next week!”

“I love it”—Sam purred as he plunged back inside—“when you get all hot and bothered. You’ve got no idea how much I love it. You get all twitchy inside.”

She was going to kill him. First, she would experience her orgasm. Then she would kill him. The black widow spider had the right idea. Men were to be consumed, then consumed again.

This time, Sam stayed inside. He gazed down at her with his big brown eyes and a wide grin across his face.

“This is it,” she said.

“I should think so.”

She inhaled, held her breath, and then let her breath out. There. That was it. He’d pierced her to the core. The fluttering of her orgasm, so sweet, so terrible, all at the same time. She clutched Sam, an unspoken message to him to wait. She inhaled again, held her breath, then let it out in shuddering gasps.

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