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Sunday, January 7, 2018

A Naughty New Year with Renee Dominick

Renee Dominick is the spicy-side alter ego of a Seattle area writer. At home in the quiet of the woods, the energetic whirl of a vibrant city, and in a mountain’s bowls and moguls when the snow calls, her travels, both real and imaginary, inspire all of her stories.

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My To Have and To Hold novellas take place during the gatherings and celebrations leading up to one particular wedding, Chloe and Dave’s. The bridesmaids and groomsmen find their HEAs and HFNs along the way, but the bride and groom, having already achieved theirs, are only window dressing in the stories. When this blog event came up, I thought it would be the perfect excuse to let Chloe and Dave star in their own story, and when I happened on one very sexy .gif…well, let’s just say, I knew exactly what kind of NYE I wanted them to have.


Something about the sound of the party downstairs—or rather, the absence of sound, since the bass had stopped thumping underfoot—alerted Chloe it was nearing midnight. Unfortunately, she and Dave were still tied up, or…Dave was. He looked so delectable lying there with his arms outspread, his fingers clutching the iron headboard. Not that his hands could go anywhere else. Not with his wrists secured with white satin.

“You want to see the ball drop, don’t you, babe?” Chloe whispered in his ear.

He gave a tight nod. All the muscles of his upper body were contracted into lovely bulges and taut sinew under feverish, sweat-sheened skin.

She drew an ice cube down the midline of his abdomen, inch by slow inch. Meltwater pooled in the channel, and she licked it away at intervals, watching from the corners of her eyes as his body reacted. She could definitely get addicted to having him captive like this.


Chloe hadn’t even wanted to go out for New Year’s Eve. The first holiday since they’d announced their engagement meant they’d been smothered with hugs and congratulations, but also inundated with advice and questions and demands for details. All out of excitement and affection, of course, but still overwhelming. Her socialization cup was full, and Chloe wanted a break, to stay home in her flannel pajamas, eat ice cream out of the carton, and watch Die Hard until midnight. Unfortunately, Dave had been insistent. They could not back out of the company party.

When they left the house, Dave looked smokin’ hot in his black suit, his hair slicked back and formal-looking, and his cheeks shaved smooth. Chloe amended her wish list: stay home in her sexiest lingerie, eat ice cream off Dave’s abs, and ring in the New Year under a tangle of sweaty sheets. She ran it by him as they sat dead stopped in traffic.

“Come on, Chloe. We’re not about to turn around now,” he said, in a voice that implied she was being unreasonable. Maybe she was, but by the time they made it through another unexpected traffic jam, this time on the bridge to Isaac’s Eastside high rise, her outlook had degenerated from resigned to crabby.

There were two cars ahead of them at the valet station when Dave turned to her and said, “Smile, babe. It’s going to be fun.”

Smile? Chloe opened her mouth to tell him where to stick his smile advice, but with the kind of perfect timing only Dave could pull off, they inched forward, the valet attendant opened her door, and she had to settle for a sneer. Dave returned it with a little head tilt that said, touché!

Chloe might have growled, at both him and herself.

He took her hand and wove it under his elbow as they made their way toward the building’s entry. “I love you, Chloe Lindgren,” he whispered, nipping her ear. The doorman, dressed in full regalia, opened the door with a grand gesture and they swanned through. “Next New Year we’ll be an old married couple. I promise we can stay home if you want.”

This was one New Year’s Eve; she could meet him half way. Chloe turned, and though her smile was forced, she said, “Let’s do this.”

And then Dave started in on the martinis. The more he sipped, the more effusive he grew. His bro-tastic co-workers egged him on, Chloe’s smile grew tighter, and when she glanced around, she caught Isaac eyeing their group. Glowering, really.

The dude was a full-on dominant. Obvious about it to the point of keeping his subs practically bound to his side, even in public. There was no one at his side tonight. As far as Chloe knew, he hadn’t taken up with anyone new since he’d split with his most recent paramour, which just gave him more leisure time to use his keen observational prowess on the rest of them.

As tenuous a hold as she had on herself, she didn’t need Isaac picking at the twine like a damn crow feasting on road kill.

Dave was laughing and spouting off about how Chloe tried to bribe him to stay home by tempting him first with flannel pajamas, then an offer to—

Chloe gave him a sharp elbow to the ribs, Dave sloshed his drink, and the guys exploded with laughter. Her head throbbed like a volcano ready to erupt steam and vitriol on anyone who didn’t make it out of the blast zone.

Isaac, dark and stealthy as a panther in the rainforest, inserted himself into the group. Good. Let him deal with his raucous underlings. Chloe turned away, muttering about needing a stronger drink and maybe a gag for Dave.

“That could be arranged, you know,” Isaac said to her sotto voce.

Chloe’s brows shot northward. “Ex-cuse me?

“I think it’s a fine idea.”

She wanted to say, well, you would but she didn’t possess quite that much chutzpah. Still, she must have had a look on her face. Isaac, making a pretense of looking at her engagement ring, carved her away from the group.

“I’ve told the bartender no more martinis for him,” he said. “But if you need a quiet place to…hash this out…” He gestured vaguely, but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. He was like a fucking farmer. Tossing the tiniest kinky seeds onto fertile ground and letting them take root.

And root they did. Chloe bit the inside of her cheek, first one side, then the other. This should have been the most awkward conversation ever. Instead, the gears in her head started spinning at piercingly high rpms, delicious ideas playing out in her imagination. Ideas involving lessons in silence and restraint of the sort a dominant might employ.

She looked up at him, and Isaac raised his chin toward the stairway to the second floor. “Third door on the right. It’s stocked, it’s secure, and…” He scratched his stubbled chin with two fingers. “Relatively soundproof. It’s just a spare room.”

“Um…thank you. I may just…”

“I wouldn’t want you to spend New Year’e Eve in misery,” he said as he turned on his heel and stalked off.

Well. The man was imperious and unnerving as hell, but she had to hand it to him. He knew his human psychology. He’d seen right through her—not that there was much of a secret about what she’d rather be doing, thanks to Dave, but somehow Isaac knew his suggestion would appeal to her, deep down.

And it did. Enormous appeal.

Chloe took the stairs at a forced-calm pace, then slipped into the room Isaac had directed her to. It was nothing like she’d imagined. It was utterly feminine, for one thing. The bed’s metal headboard, painted in a rosy cream, evoked curling vines, and the coverings were soft and rich-looking, in gradations of white like a seashell in sunlight. She opened drawers and cupboards of the light-colored wood furniture, finding ropes and blindfolds, restraints and even lingerie, as well as tools she associated with more advanced inducement of both pleasure and pain. Paddles and electrical implements, and even something that looked like a wicked pizza cutter. There was also a small refrigerator sitting next to the bedside table, with fresh ice inside, and an erotically painted bowl of hardened wax on top, sitting on a rack over an unlit warming can.

Ignoring Isaac’s lingerie collection—she was wearing her laciest bra and panty set, and a garter to hold up her thigh-high stockings, Chloe hung her dress in the armoire, dropped her panties on the floor inside, and then strolled over to the restraint drawer, debating over her choices before deciding on satin ties rather than cuffs. After another moment’s consideration at a different cupboard, she pulled a slim paddle, like a pastry spatula in a padded leather sheath, from the collection. It was mostly for show, though. She didn’t think she could actually be moved to use it. At least not with any force. Though she and Dave had introduced some light kink into their repertoire, paddles were a step farther than they’d gone. Chloe was more interested in the appearance, in sending her fiancé a message. Don’t humiliate your already-cranky fiancée in public, lover boy.

When she deemed everything ready, she sent Dave a terse text to come upstairs. Less than a minute later the clip of his familiar stride on the wood flooring outside unleashed curl of panic in her belly. What was she playing at? She had no real leverage, no way to make Dave cooperate.

Her misgivings evaporated when he stepped inside. His face transformed from worry to confusion, to pure, unadulterated lust. He closed the door with a sturdy click.

Chloe felt terribly lusty, too. Her breasts and lower bits all responded to the expression on Dave’s face. She ached to be touched and fondled, but that wasn’t the plan. To distract herself, she raised the small paddle and waved it in a figure eight, like a kinky magic wand. “Take off your clothes, David. All of them.”
His mouth dropped open. “Chloe, we’re at—”

“Who do you think allowed me the use of the room?” she said, cutting him off as she edged past him to turn the lock.

Tiny beads of sweat popped out on Dave’s forehead, and try as she might, Chloe couldn’t keep herself from brushing her nipples, just to discharge some of the excess sexual energy. It worked…sort of. The surge fired straight downward, but left her with a kindling afterglow. One that only made her want to duplicate the sensation again. And again.

Dave’s eyes followed her hand, his lids drooping to half-mast. “Oh, God,” he groaned quietly.

She couldn’t agree more, but she couldn’t say so. She had a persona to maintain. “You’re still dressed,” she said instead, slanting the paddle between his legs and exerting just a little upward pressure. “Why is that?”

His hips flinched back. “What is this, Chloe?”

“No, Dave.” She slid the flat of the paddle back and forth across his growing erection. “You’re not to talk. You’ve said enough tonight.”

And with that, his face registered comprehension. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, babe. You know how me and martinis—”

“Excuses,” she said, her tone clipped. “I could switch out this benign thing for one with an electric zap. There are several options available.” She waved languidly toward the various cupboards. “Clothes, David. And silently. Think of it as restitution.”

She stood with her head and hip both cocked as he undressed, his movements careful, deliberate, one eye on her most of the time. He stopped with his black boxer briefs still on. Chloe stared at him, daring him to defy her, and when he didn’t move, she let the paddle thwack rhythmically against her thigh. He swallowed hard, and Chloe savored the feeling of being in full control. Dave didn’t dislike it, either, if the hard-on now straining his waistband was any clue.

He pushed his underwear down slowly, revealing himself by degrees. There were some things Chloe simply couldn’t look away from, and Dave doing a striptease was one of them. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from ruining her Domme façade by grinning.

When he stood naked before her, she said, “Excellent. I’m going to tie you to the bed. Nod if I have your permission.”

(The story continues on

PR exec Natalie Lindgren is all business…until it comes to dealing with her craving for sexual submission. Two years ago, she walked away from the lifestyle—and her Dom, Javier. Now she’s back at his luxury guest ranch, not as his sub, but as a member of her sister’s wedding party.

But Javier’s not her only problem. Her ex, Ryan—who she left because his ideas to kink up their sex life veered too closely to Natalie’s former lifestyle—is the best man.

She’d thought she could resist the two dominant men, but with one touch Natalie is back under Javier’s influence, and one whisper has her aching for Ryan’s fingers tight around her wrist. How is she going to get through the weekend? Especially once the two of them join forces to remind her exactly what she’s been missing…

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