Saturday, September 12, 2009

Pleasure House by Michelle Hasker

Pleasure House
by Michelle Hasker

Cover art by Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-60521-289-0
Genre(s): BDSM
Length: Novella

Kyra loves her husband Miach more than anything, but she’s tired of sweet, gentle sex in the dark. She needs more, and watching the Dom at a private club makes her realize exactly what’s been missing from her love life. Now, if only she can convince Miach to give it a try, maybe she really can have the perfect marriage.


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Tonight was the night. Kyra smoothed the lacy negligee over her curves and hoped Miach appreciated the effort she'd put into this seduction. The sexy clothes, the painful waxing, getting her hair and nails done, and the fresh shower with an application of her sexiest perfume -- the one that usually made him purr -- should be enough to get her what she wanted. Tonight was going to be the night she managed to make her husband cut loose and get a little rough and wild in the bedroom.
The pink lace was guaranteed to get his engine revved. She left her hair loose so it curled gently down her back with a few strands artistically arranged in the front to guide his eyes to the front of the negligee and the large expanse of exposed cleavage. If her plans tonight didn't make him lose control, nothing would.
Kyra stepped out of the bathroom and looked across the room at her husband. He was already in bed with the sheets pulled up to his waist. He sat there looking very distinguished, reading the newspaper in his formal pajamas. She struck a pose, leaning one hand against the doorjamb and putting the other on her hip. With a purse of her lips, she stared at him, willing him to look at her.
As if he heard her silent summons, or felt her burning gaze, Miach looked up. His eyes widened, his lips turning up at the corners before his stodgy reserved side kicked in, wiping the grin from his face. "What are you doing, Kyra?"
"Nothing." She cringed. She would not let him talk her out of this tonight. "I just..."
"Just what?"
"I thought we could spice things up a little. They say a little variety in the bedroom is good for a marriage."
"Spice it up? Dressing like a Playboy bunny?"
"Playboy bunny? This is a very expensive silk negligee, Miach. And though I thank you for thinking I look sexy enough to be a Playboy bunny I'm certainly not dressed like one."
"Have you been reading those magazines again?" He frowned as he folded up the newspaper and placed it carefully on the nightstand next to him. Her hands itched to knock it from its neat spot on the bedside table. Everything had a place, and he certainly made sure they were always in it. Even her.
"Magazines? No --"
"Then it must have been your girlfriends. Those socialites you were talking to tonight at the Marks' residence. Did they convince you that something was missing from our sex life?"
"No!" She gasped, recoiling from him in horror. There was something missing in their sex life, but she didn't want him to know how unhappy she was. She was going to fix it without making him feel less of a man. It wasn't his fault he was stuffy and stodgy in the bedroom. She could loosen him up a little -- if she figured out what got his libido into overdrive.
"So what's got you thinking you need to spice up our love life, then?" His frown was so deep her heart started to beat faster.
She hadn't done this to upset him. She wanted him to fuck her, not keep treating her like a china doll. "Maybe I thought you'd like this. Doesn't it arouse you?"
"You arouse me, Kyra. Not your clothing. I could care less if you wore a burlap bag. I'd still desire you as much as I do now."
His words were probably meant to make her feel better, but they didn't. If she took extra care to look her best, then she wanted him to take notice. To sit up and beg. This lacy outfit was nothing like a burlap bag. It accentuated her large chest and her nice curves. Disappointment rushed through her.
"I don't like you wearing racy outfits, Kyra. You're a senator's daughter and the wife of a prominent lawyer. You can't go around looking like a two-cent whore. Stick to your nightgowns. It's better to cover your body than reveal it."
Kyra choked back a sob at his words. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks at any minute. She was never more grateful for his need to have a dark room for sex than she was at this moment. He wouldn't even understand why she was crying, let alone that he'd just crushed her hopes and desires.
"Turn off the light and come to bed, love." His voice had softened, but that didn't change anything he'd just said. He thought she looked like a whore. If he thought a lace nightie was hookerish, then she'd never convince him to try any of the other ideas she wanted put into action. Damn, damn, double damn.

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