In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial)

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 16,500
1 Ratings (4.0)

From Bestselling Erotica Author Erika Masten The Sixth Title In An Eight-Part Erotic Romance Serial

In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial) A Domination and Submission Romance

When Chloe Bloom left the Brazilian island paradise of Ilha de Flor and her billionaire Dom and lover, Adrian Knight, she thought she was returning forever to her controlled, sedate life as an up and coming junior partner at the premier environmental law firm on the East Coast. But that firm is exactly what Adrian needs to defend himself from a pending indictment designed to ruin him and pry ownership of the island from his grasp. Facing Adrian again in a harsh winter metropolis far from their tropical haven, Chloe struggles to master the tumultuous emotional fallout the man seems destined to leave in his wake, even as he draws her reluctantly back into his bed. She’ll have to decide if she’s fighting with him or fighting for him and exactly how much she’s willing to risk for Adrian and everyone waiting back on Ilha de Flor.

Length: 16,500 words

Bonus Material: Includes excerpts from domination erotica shorts Domination Sex: Conditioned Response and Room Service: Dominated #3 by Erika Masten.

Warning: This is a domination and submission romance containing explicit sexual content, including elements of light bondage. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial)
1 Ratings (4.0)

In His Wake: His #6 (A Billionaire Domination Serial)

excessica publishing

Heat Rating: Scorching
Word Count: 16,500
1 Ratings (4.0)
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Good story, I wish the whole lot were in one book instead of a heap of seperate books.

Waiting for the gleaming metal elevator doors to part for me, I shook the memories of Ilha de Flor out of my head. Time to get back to my life, back to business, without the constant comparison to a fantasy that I no longer lived. How many times, I wondered, had I said that to myself since I’d come back to the city? How many more times would I need to say it before it took? When the doors slid open, I gave the traditional pause, enough time for any occupants in the car who wanted this floor to disembark. But the elevator wasn’t on its way down to the lobby, instead heading upward to the offices for the senior partners.

Linda, the slender, chestnut-haired matron who was the chief administrative assistant and all-around den mother for the juniors at Ferris & Hale, stepped out with her armload of manila folders. Behind her stood an array of well-manicured professionals with faces I might not have recognized but whose manner and dress clearly marked them as counsel. Not an unusual sight in the building. We were specialists, and attorneys with more generalized practices frequently accompanied their clients to meetings in our offices.

Today they circled a client of obvious stature, both social and physical. Six-feet-two-inches of lean runner’s muscle. Sable hair that would’ve looked black if not for the rich brown highlights. Smooth skin lightly tanned but still too dark to go unnoticed amid the pale complexions of office-bound easterners. And those eyes… Moonlight on latte.

My first thought… He came for me. And damn my heart for swelling, my mouth for going dry, and my palms for beginning to sweat. For a waning fantasy flaring to life as I gazed into the perfect curves and chiseled lines of Adrian Knight’s face while the world around me receded and faded to a fuzzy blur.

High cheekbones, lush lips, flawlessly trimmed stubble along his hard, wide jaw, Knight was a testament to just how good my memory was. While I was used to seeing him in cashmere hoodies, cargo pants, and deck shoes, or else in the tuxedos he’d put on for dinner, now he wore the style and quality of business attire I would’ve expected of a man richer than God. The light gray silk tie matched his shirt perfectly, with the vest, jacket, and slacks being just a shade or two darker. The cashmere scarf around his neck and the fine woolen overcoat tossed over his arm were a complementary charcoal gray. Not the usual sea and sand colors I associated with Adrian, to be sure, but damn if it didn’t bring out that silver sheen in those amber brown eyes. My heart, my fists, and my sex seized tight at the sight of him.

Of course, it made no sense to think that Adrian had come for me. Why would he? Ours had been a temporary liaison, a three-month agreement that I would serve him sexually. For me, the goal had been to renew my flagging confidence while teaching myself to enjoy sex the way men did—the way Penn had, the way my father had, without emotional attachment. My careless assumption had been that Knight simply wanted sex from a woman who would cater to his particular tastes. I hadn’t realized at the time that Adrian had his own very specific agenda, far beyond personal pleasure, that being to seduce the woman who had gotten away from his lifelong rival. Regardless of whatever wounds that might have inflicted on the inconsequential target of those advances—me.

In the end, I had lasted hardly more than two weeks before I’d started to fall for Knight, only to learn his true motives, and before I’d found the subpoenas that proved he was every bit the scoundrel his father was. I’d left Adrian and Ilha de Flor on a midnight ferry bound for the mainland port of Natal and the first flight I could catch back to the States.

There had been no phone calls asking why I’d fled or begging my return. No letters or emails. The belongings I’d left behind had shown up at my door, shipped express with no charge to me. And that had been the end of that.

Until now, as I stood mouth agape, eye to eye with Adrian Knight. My face burned with the need to scream at him to get the hell away from me and out of my city, my chest with the need to feel his arms around me, my sex with a disturbingly Pavlovian obedience to his mere proximity. I gathered a slow, deep breath to keep myself from tearing up at the force of the emotional swell, but I refused to let myself blink, just in case. The last thing I needed right now was a teardrop breaking down my cheek, smearing mascara and making my coworkers wonder. Or letting Adrian see how deeply he’d wounded me.

“Are you getting in, miss?” one of the men with Adrian asked. Knight’s expression remained still, even unnaturally so, as though he didn’t know me from a stranger on the street.

“No, I’m going down.” In flames. But I’d wait until they’d gone for the actual crash and burn.

The attorney who’d spoken, a gentleman with a thin face and graying dark hair, leaned slightly to one side to press the button and start the elevator moving again. My gaze remained bound to Adrian’s, as I took in other movement around me only with my peripheral vision. Just before the doors closed, I saw Knight’s full lips part, a mere fraction of an inch. And I realized that the whole time he’d been staring back at me…he’d been holding his breath.

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