Page 2 of Delicious Surrender
She checked her email incessantly and considered sending a follow-up, but Josie assured her it could take several months. Seven weeks and three days later, she woke up to an email from the Wade & Stewart Literary Agency. Her thoughts began flitting like a bee in a pollination frenzy. One flower of doubt, one bloom of hope. Doubt had plagued her for weeks, but the waiting was over. She piled up her pillows and opened the email.
Dear Brynne,
You’ve done a good job with your characters and have created a compelling story that kept me engaged most of the way, but youmissed the mark on delivering the type of erotically charged scenes that readers want in this genre. Dig deeper into the true dynamics of a dominant and submissive relationship and make sure the characters have an attraction that sizzles.
One of my preferred publishing houses is planning to launch a new line of more erotic stories. They are looking for darker romances with kinky themes and more explicit sex.
This genre is not in my wheelhouse, but when you have completed a rewrite, I’ll have my team take another look at it. You’ve done well, so don’t give up.
Josie and I haven’t been able to connect. Please be sure to pass along my good wishes when you see her.
Best regards,
Linda
Guilt nagged her. It had been months since she’d visited Aunt Josie. With her singular focus on revising the book, she’d put off making a trip to Skye. Josie was her biggest cheerleader and had consistently encouraged Brynne to fulfill her dreams of being an author. Her racy Regency-era novels about strong, adventurous women and dashing, dominant men allowed Brynne to find her own author voice.
The writing was on the wall. Studying other erotic writers and watching kinky videos wasn’t enough. At thirty-two, she was no shy wallflower, but her quest to understand the dynamics of BDSM had missed the mark.
It was time to explore the world of dominance and submission—and it was going to requirehands-onexperience.
She punched out a text to Jared:
Brynne:Jared. I want you to get me an interview atDominus. I’m done trying to figure out the scene on my own.
Jared:Oy vey! OK I’ll try to get you an interview but only as a server. They may not hire you - you have no experience as a sub.
Brynne:I want to see the real stuff and maybe I’ll meet a real Dom there who can teach me the ropes. I can pretend to be submissive. How hard can that be?
Jared:Christ, you don’t have a submissive bone in your body. Or if you do, it’s hidden by that big chip on your shoulder.
2
Club Dominus
Spring was being held for ransom by a cold, damp fog that blanketed the city. Brynne walked up the steps of the majestic four-story Georgian and took a deep breath. Without Google Maps, she would have walked right past the entrance.
An engraved foundation stone proved the building had been around at the turn of the century, and the imposing black gate made her wonder if it was meant to keep people out or lock them in. Shaking off her nerves, she pressed the buzzer.
She was applying to one of the last private, men-only establishments in London. Club Dominus was a rich man’s fetish club. Exorbitant fees ensured that only the very wealthy or very connected could enjoy the fine cuisine and other more deviant pursuits that membership offered.
Jared tried to talk her out of it, but Brynne ultimately convinced him it was the safest way to get firsthand exposure tothe scene, even if she’d only be observing the guests as a server. He helped her fill out the outrageous questionnaire, and three days later, they called her for an interview.
Ringing the call button one more time, Brynne steeled herself for the next step in her erotic education.
“You may enter.”
The gravelly voice made her hair stand up. An audible click released the latch on the gate. The tall oak door swung open, and she admired the grand two-story foyer with its gleaming black-and-white marble floors and miles of polished wood. Ornately framed oil paintings filled the walls of the impressive staircase and reminded Brynne of a museum. It smelled like lemon polish, old books, and leather.
Her gaze landed on the withered butler who was looking at her like an exterminator would a wayward cockroach.
She pasted on a phony beautiful smile and said, “I’m here for an interview. My name is—”
He cut her off with a wave of his white-gloved hand. “I’m quite aware of who you are, Miss Larimore. Now, if you would please follow me.”
“Sure, of course,” she said, then hastily added, “sir.”
She followed closely as he tottered down the stairs to the lower level.