It begins as a case of mistaken identity. Brenda is escaping into the mountains of Montana for a week of relaxation. Instead, she finds herself naked and pressed against a hard, aroused man, intent on a weekend of sexual domination. When the real submissive walks in on them, he realizes the mistake made at the front desk and is horrified, willing to do whatever he can to make things right. Brenda is intrigued. When she asks him to take her on as a substitute, he is blindsided! Can a weekend that satisfies their deepest desires, both sexually and emotionally, turn into more? (F/M)
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“Do you want every creature in the forest to know what we’re doing?” he rasped, stilling his hands and mouth. “Jamie told me that you would be up for anything, but he didn’t tell me that you’d scream like a banshee.”
A part of Brenda heard the words. Who was Jamie? What was he talking about? But the rest of her, most of her, was still fighting him off even though he was no longer moving. So she didn’t notice that he had slipped over to her side. She didn’t notice when his hand grasped her chin and encountered the tears washing over her cheeks.
Consciousness returned all at once. “Are you crying??” her assailant demanded, as simultaneously the lights went on, and two strangers appeared in the doorway.
“Jesus, you are built!” the woman said, eyeing the man on the bed with a grin.
“We’re too late,” the man with her groaned, running both hands down his face in the universal sign of defeat.
“Jamie?” the man on the bed asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“This,” the man gestured toward the woman with him, a wry look of apology on his face as he continued, “is Ronnie.”
Brenda’s assailant froze. He just went completely still on the bed beside her, without even any discernible movement of his chest to show that he was breathing. The pause seemed to last forever, but finally he turned to look at her. He looked first at her face, her wide, hazel eyes and tear-soaked cheeks. He took in her slender form, the sprinkling of freckles on her shoulders, the shell pink polish on her toes. His sculpted face gave nothing away, but his eyes were alive with conflicting emotions – confusion, disbelief, frustration, and dawning horror – they all coalesced into a burning rage by the time his gaze returned to her own.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded accusingly. “And just what were you doing walking into my cabin?”
It was Brenda’s turn to stare in disbelief. He acted as if she’d done something wrong! Righteous indignation came to her rescue, but unfortunately, she couldn’t tell him what she thought with the gag filling her mouth.