Here's a taste from Serenity's Child:
Pushing back from the desk, Bri rolled her neck to work out the kinks. She’d been a mess when she returned from town. Confused and depressed, she stomped around the house for half an hour before powering up her laptop. Some six hours later, she was still confused and depressed, but now she added horny to the mix.
What started out as harmless curiosity had quickly devolved into full-blown obsession. Stopping only long enough to make a pot of coffee and pee, she’d devoured every website, every blog, anything and everything she could find on Domestic Discipline; and as if that weren’t neurotic enough, she’d downloaded two ebooks dealing with the subject, hot as hell novellas that had her squirming in her chair.
She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t know she was different and needed something outside the norm. The fantasies started in high school, daydreams in which a real man took her in hand, not some silly boy. It was when she got to college that a purloined copy of ‘The Story of O’ clarified and narrowed her desires. She could admit to having submissive tendencies but masochism wasn’t her thing. Degradation and torture for the sake of someone else’s gratification struck her as a really bad deal. No way, Jose.
A visit to a Boston fetish club confirmed what she already knew but also muddied the waters. Though there was little doubt she enjoyed the spanking and after-care provided by the Dom, something was missing, something essential to who she was. The costumes and faux dungeon trappings made her feel more like a performer than a flesh and blood participant. Public displays, scripted responses and random partners were fine for those who got off on exhibitionism, but she wanted more.
Exactly what that was she hadn’t known until today, but then words like cherished and cosseted hadn’t been part of her lexicon either. Domestic Discipline filled the bill, one man who would love her but wasn’t afraid to keep her in line, one man to put his foot down when the call of adventure reared its ugly head, one man who wouldn’t feel the need to inflate his ego by destroying hers.
Oversimplification or not, she wanted it all. After Afghanistan, the sex might be a glitch, but with the right man she’d work through it. Problem was, the right man, the only man she’d let take her in hand was the one she couldn’t have, the one who hated her guts. Not that she blamed him. Her earlier performance was far from stellar, so in addition to thinking her selfish and rude, he was probably convinced she was unhinged.
Maybe she was. Desperate to learn more about him, she’d cyber-stalked the poor guy. His website was a bust. Filled with raves about his books and the usual P.R. fluff, it received only a cursory glance before she moved on to the good stuff which, as luck would have it, turned out to be as far from good as it could get.
