Please be aware that this excerpt contains sensual content that is only suitable
for adult readers who are comfortable with frank language and descriptions of
Middle management executive Victoria Renard works for a large insurance firm that
has just been bought out by the mysterious and reclusive business tycoon F.W.
Shanley the Third. Vicki and her colleagues are all concerned about their future,
in the wake of the takeover, and into this tension fraught situation, walks devilishly
attractive freelance photographer Red Webster on assignment to take photos for
a new company profile.
Vicki finds Red attractive but his sexy teasing rubs her the wrong way. Red
in turn is turned on by Vicki's feisty, challenging personality and her undeniable
beauty. He also senses a kindred spirit, a woman who shares his sexual preference
for BDSM pleasure, and his hopes are confirmed when he discovers her reading
a copy of "The Story of O" on her Kindle.
Unknown to Vicki and her fellow employees, though, Red Webster and Frederick
Webster Shanley are one and the same person, as the unconventional businessman
likes to investigate his new acquisitions from the inside, and get to know his
workforce without them knowing it's him.
Free of the boss/employee dynamic, Red is able to woo and seduce Vicki on equal
terms, first in a kinky encounter in the company gym, and later during a long,
hedonistic weekend at a very beautiful, luxurious and risqué hotel. He
dares her to take him on, and share a wild sexual adventure with him, no strings,
no repercussions afterwards.
But the luxurious getaway exceeds the expectations of both Vicki and Red, and
in a sensuous, hothouse atmosphere they find themselves falling in love. The
widowed Red has reservations about entering another relationship and Vicki is
still uneasy about Red's cavalier and somewhat underhand courtship techniques,
but they challenge each other to overcome these, and - when Red finally reveals
his true identity - to commit to a loving future of erotic games, mutual respect
and emotional fulfillment.
Intimate Exposure is published by
Available from Carina Press, Kindle
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“Watch the birdie!”
Caught in the act of reaching over to retrieve her e-reader, Vicki jumped, her
heart thudding hard as half the blood in her body seemed to flow into her face
and turn it bright blushing pink.
Why, oh why did F. W. Shanley’s tame paparazzo—and her own personal
devil—choose this very moment to play his candid camera games? She’d
been to a meeting first thing and was rushing through the main office, laden
with shoulder bag, briefcase and newspaper, and her nemesis had happened upon
her at the exact instant her beloved e-reader had fallen out of the outer pocket
of her bag on to the carpet. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere and popped
up right behind her as she’d swooped down for the e-reader, presenting
her bottom, in her slim gray skirt, as a prime target.
Might as well have pasted a Check Me Out sign on my arse.
Snatching up her prize, Vicki straightened up, squared her shoulders and spun
around as gracefully as she could, blending the look of unruffled calm on her
face with just a smidge of cool disdain. Pretty effectively, to her mind, apart
from the still-raging blush.
“Would you be kind enough to delete that one, Mr. Webster. I’m sure
it won’t be any good at all for your brochure. I can’t imagine your
exalted master and his board of directors will be in the least bit interested
in my…my rear end.”
Oh, that wicked, arrogant, mocking face. Oh, that grin, that devilish knowing
grin. And oh hell, those eyes, those strange piercing eyes. Their color was
like fire seen through brandy and they noticed everything. Not just her arse,
but the object in her hand. The amused glitter behind the lenses of his elegant
metal-framed glasses told her he obviously knew what an e-reader was, and what
it was for.
“Oh, I don’t know. They might love it. I do. And I bet F. W. would
too—might be just his thing.” Red Webster’s voice was deep
and husky, and it always sounded as if he was just about to laugh. Well, it
did whenever he spoke to her, anyway. Letting his large and elaborate camera
drop on its retaining strap, he reached like a flash to whisk the e-reader out
of her hand. Hampered by her other belongings, she was powerless to stop him.
“I’ve got one of these. Great, aren’t they? What are you reading?”
But before she could stop him, he’d flicked the power slider, and the
secret of her current reading choice was revealed.
Red Webster’s dark eyebrows shot up, and his weird eyes glittered. He
“Outstanding. One of my favorites.” He paused, clicking onto the
next page, his tongue sweeping his lower lip as if savoring the taste of her
embarrassment. “I might have known you were a Story of O girl.”
“Give me that!” she snapped, losing her cool despite all her best
intentions not to. Others in the open-plan office were now watching their little
drama, always happy to be diverted from minutiae of insurance policies and clauses.
Lunging forward, shoulder bag swinging dangerously, Vicki grabbed for the reader—but
got empty air while the infuriating Red Webster swerved gracefully to one side
like a tango king and swept it from her grasp.
“You’ve got to ask nicely,” he replied, a smirk of pure mirth
on his bearded face as he clicked through the pages as if speed-reading. His
curious eyes gleamed. “Or perhaps you could get down on your knees and
beg me for it? Judging by your choice of downloads, it looks like you might
actually enjoy a bit of groveling.”
Vicki took a shallow calming breath. “Don’t be absurd, Mr. Webster,”
she said as lightly as she could, fabricating that unconcerned smile again.
She must not let him rattle her.
But something in her tone gave her away. His eyes had been bright before but
now they were ablaze, their heat immobilizing her as he stared down at her.
Vicki felt sweat pop out along her hairline—and elsewhere—as the
moment stretched between them like a tightening wire. More interested faces
turned towards them in their immediate area and beyond.
In a very short space of time it’d become common knowledge that she and
the visiting photographer didn’t exactly get on, and it seemed that everyone
was hoping for a ruckus. People at Wickham-Drake loved such confrontations.
Even the smallest spat broke up the routine of office life, with its hours of
staring at their PCs, hammering out reports and dealing with the never-ending
succession of phone calls.
“But I’m not being absurd. Why else would you own a book like The
Story of O if the subject material didn’t interest you?”
Look, you, why don’t you just descend into your fiery lair…or
alternatively, just go away.
The words were silent but she had no doubt that the dark, imposing man in front
of her still heard them.
“I read all sorts of books, Mr. Webster, and this one just happened to
be at a special low price at the moment.” The effort of looking serene
made her skin feel tight, as if she’d had a face pack on too long, but
when she reached out again for the e-reader, he finally returned it to her.
Their fingertips touched for split second and a sizzle of raw electricity seemed
to spit at the point of contact.
Vicki suppressed a gasp, hastily stuffing the e-reader and the paper into her
shoulder bag, then sliding both that and her briefcase in front of herself protectively.
But she couldn’t protect herself from her imagination. It was as if Red
Webster’s touch had triggered a slide show. On the screen of her mind,
she saw images. Of herself with this perverse man, kneeling before him as he
towered over her, immensely tall and powerful. Kissing his hand, abasing herself
even lower, her lips pressed to the surface of his polished riding boot.
Even as the preposterous image flicked out of existence, her sex quickened,
hot and full of need.
“Are you all right, Vicki?”
His low and already familiar voice was teasing, yet at the same time he sounded
concerned. As if he was worried by her sudden fugue and was a kind man beneath
all the flirtation. When she dropped back into the real world again, Red Webster
was still staring at her, those fiendish, almost unnatural lights dancing in
his eyes. Once again, it seemed he could see what she saw, read her thoughts.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you, Mr. Webster.” She gave him
another firm look. “Have you deleted that shot yet?”
Solid black-clad shoulders shrugged, and he gave her a wide admiring smile,
clearly enjoying her badly disguised antagonism.
For God’s sake, don’t do that, she thought, alarmed all over again
at the effect that even white teeth and firm sensual lips framed in a neat,
dark, piratical beard seemed to have on her. Even when he was faking being nice
to her, he was a goad and a challenge.
Get lost, you’re not my type. Leave me alone.
She got hotter and hotter as he pressed a series of deft commands on the camera’s
control panel. His hands were elegant, but they were large, and he was barely
looking at what he was doing. He knew his equipment by pure instinct.
What else came instinctively to those clever, sturdy fingertips?
Panic assailed her along with new mind pictures. She had to get away from Red
Webster right now. Or make him get away from her. And yet she moved closer as
he held out the camera for her inspection and flicked through the last series
of shots on its bright LCD screen.
All was routine. Just photos of the room they were standing in and others much
like it. Some shots of architectural features, the unnoticed beauties of the
fine old building, hinting at what it had been before it’d been converted
to offices. Shots of people busy in their cubicles. People chatting. People
using their computers, maybe a bit fed up of the humdrum routine, but basically
fairly content with their lots. Which she was, usually, when she wasn’t
fending off the attentions of a large, sexy and distinctly mischievous man who
seemed to have taken a fancy to her.
“Okay.” She gave him a curt nod, hoping it would dismiss him and
she could be off to her own office at the end of the room—the little box
that was her perk as a section leader. But Red Webster remained where he stood,
lifting the camera to his eyes, making an adjustment, and firing off a run of
shots of the general work area around them.
She was compelled to speak, even though she knew it would just encourage him
“Why do you need so many pictures, anyway? How many illustrations does
one simple little review need? You don’t think Shanley’s planning
to sell the company on again when he’s only just bought it, do you?”
What precisely did Red Webster know about F. W. Shanley III, the new owner of
Wickham-Drake, the insurance company for which she worked? After all, he must
have met the big cheese when he’d been given his photographic brief. “Or
maybe he’s planning to shift us all to some glass-and-concrete block on
a commercial estate and remodel this building as his own personal palace?”
Those dark-bright eyes that plagued her so much took on a sudden shuttered look.
The bastard, he does know something.
And yet when the answer came it was bland, noncommittal.
“I couldn’t say. I’m only here to take photographs of the
people and the building and do the art design for the report. F. W. likes to
have something informative to show the global board when he makes an acquisition,
with plenty of pretty pictures in case they can’t read.” He dropped
her a wink behind his spectacles, suggesting that he held exactly the same views
she did about plutocratic business mandarins.
“Well, maybe if you didn’t loiter around here as much and took photographs
elsewhere, you’d have a more representative selection to amuse them. And
you wouldn’t be interrupting those of us who have more worthwhile things
No, why did I say that? Goddamn it.
“Worthwhile?” His eyes narrowed, and there was nothing at all bland
about his expression now. It was intense, complex, challenging. He seemed to
be asking questions of her on some level that was way beyond verbal. Beyond
conscious thought, even. But her body knew, and she was horrified to find it
No! she cried again, but silently, as everything about her stirred. The tips
of her breasts prickled against the lace of her bra, and down below, her pussy
seemed to ready itself to receive Red Webster’s cock. His decidedly sizable
cock. She knew he was big because she’d surreptitiously checked him out
when he’d been chatting up someone else at the entrance to a nearby cubicle.
His black jeans fit a snugly as sin and didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.
No, no…don’t do this.
Yet her own eyes no longer seemed to be under the control of her brain, and
her gaze drifted down towards the crotch area of his jeans.
His package looked solid and promising. Dear God, he might even be semierect
right now. In the split second while she waited for him to continue his verbal
goading, her head filled with pictures again. Pictures of herself kneeling before
him and waiting for permission to uncover his magnificent penis and take it
respectfully into her mouth.
“Yes, worthwhile,” she answered crisply, exerting a stringent effort
of self-control to banish the outrageous images. “Everyone here is committed
to hard work on behalf of our sections and divisions and the invisible control
freak. He might be a new boss to us, but we’re all still working just
as hard as ever.”
Red Webster didn’t answer for a few seconds but just looked at her, his
glowing eyes steady behind his elegant glasses. His face was straight and his
body calm, but Vicki knew without a doubt that everything else about him was
laughing. Because somehow—inexplicably—he’d seen everything
she’d seen in her imagination.
He shrugged, the action causing his broad chest to lift beneath his fine cotton
roll-neck sweater. The action only accentuated the graceful, massive power of
“Well, if you can call shuffling papers and policies about in an attempt
to make some obscenely rich man you don’t know from Adam even richer ‘worthwhile.’”
The disdain was on his side of the equation now, and it made Vicki’s hackles
rise. Who was he to pooh-pooh wealth? He obviously wasn’t short of money
himself. His unrelievedly black clothing might be casual and lived-in, but it
was also obviously expensive, as was the deceptively tousled styling of his
dark curly hair. And what little she knew about cameras told her that the one
slung around his neck was the top of a very exclusive and high-end line. “And
old F. W. is your boss as well as mine, you know.”
“How could I forget it?”
A shiver of unease slithered in amongst the hot brew of unwanted sexual feelings.
All jobs, including hers, could well be on the line now. The company’s
new owner was known for radical shakeups of his new acquisitions. Although to
be fair to him, he was also noted for better company pensions and health schemes
than many other employers, even in these troubled times. Not to mention generous
severance packages and an innovative outreach program to help workers secure
A benevolent despot was better than an asset-stripping hyena any day, she had
“Don’t worry,” Red murmured, letting his precious camera swing
on its retaining strap as he leaned against her desk, one arm wrapped around
his middle while he stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Our glorious
leader sees all, hears all and knows all. And he’d never let a beautiful
woman like you slip through his clutches. Especially one with such esoteric
He nodded towards her bag and the e-reader within. “Your job is safe,
Vicki. You’ll be staying here indefinitely.” Something about the
way he said that made her feel that her staying at Wickham-Drake indefinitely
was a disappointment to him somehow, but that notion faded as he rubbed his
hand slowly over his jaw. What would the texture of that soft black beard feel
like against her skin? Especially the skin of her inner thigh, for instance,
if he were to press his handsome face in between her legs?
“That is, if you want to?”
Zoning back into Red’s voice, Vicki mentally shook herself. What was the
matter with her? The bastard was turning her into a raving fantasist. “My
career plans are none of your business, Mr. Webster. Now kindly move on and
employ your photographic brilliance elsewhere, so I can get to my office and
For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her and just loaf there against
the desk, his long legs partially obstructing her path while his disturbing
eyes monitored her every move. But instead, after a teasing moment, he straightened
“As you wish, Vicki.” He turned to move away, then glanced back
over his shoulder. “And the name is Red, don’t forget that. Catch
The words were casual, a throwaway. And yet, instead of stalking off in the
direction of her office, Vicki stood there watching his tall form stride away
amongst the cubicles, still hearing that strange note in his voice that seemed
to reverberate through her body, playing excitingly in the pit of her belly.
When he’d said “don’t forget that,” it had rung like
a command, albeit a soft-spoken one. And in the depths of her psyche, the woman
who’d read The Story of O, and who’d found herself almost reluctantly
entranced by dozens of other BDSM stories and novels, found herself imagining
her nemesis as the perfect dominant master.
* * *
Frederick Webster Shanley III—the man known as Red by his friends and
intimates, and who also used the same alias amongst virtual strangers—walked
slowly and with apparent calm to the cubicle he’d been assigned in Wickham-Drake’s
PR department. Reaching his desk, he sat down, placed his favorite camera carefully
to one side, closed his eyes and smiled.
Inside he wasn’t calm at all.
Dear God in heaven, she’s adorable.
Still silent, still smiling, he set his hands flat on the desk, focusing on
the pattern made by his fingers as kind of thought exercise. He had to do something
to settle himself. It was all he could do not to groan out loud and clutch at
his groin, his cock was so stiff and aching. He genuinely couldn’t remember
the last time he’d wanted a woman quite this badly, and wanted to do so
many wonderful and terribly beautiful things with her.
He’d wanted to shout with exultation when The Story of O had flashed into
life on her e reader, and he thanked his lucky stars that the e-reader had been
tucked so precariously in her bag and fallen out. He’d run up against
Vicki Renard as many times as was feasibly possible during the course of his
little reconnoiter—as he liked to call these maverick undercover fact-finding
adventures of his—and each time, something deep inside him cried out that
she was special. His gut instinct had told him she was on his sexual wavelength,
either latently or actively, but to have it confirmed had made his blood surge
If he was lucky, she could be yin to his yang, moon to his sun, submissive to
his dominant. Her needs called irresistibly to his, and the image of her classic
oval face, her dark blond hair and her large lustrous eyes seemed to float in
Whilst taking photographs for his fictional report, he’d found himself
sidetracked again and again from his investigation and assessment of this satisfactorily
prosperous insurance company he’d added to his vast array of holdings.
He knew he should be formulating the managerial changes he was going to make
and the new initiatives he was going to introduce. Initiatives like ensuring
that talented, capable women like Vicki Renard were given the advancement they
deserved and weren’t held back by the prehistoric male cronyism that still
held sway in the conservative business world.
But instead of his usual pragmatism in observing his new employees off guard,
he’d spent most of his time here so far reviewing strategies of a very
different kind. Such as what might be the best way to acquaint a woman who probably
knew nothing of practicalities of sexual dominance and submission with all its
rainbow of bright pleasures and dark practices.
But she knows…she knows… We’re halfway there already.
He might not have to do much acquainting at all. She might be ready and eager
to submit. Their edgy exchanges and little office tiffs might well just be her
way of letting him know she wasn’t going to be a pushover.
The pleasure in BDSM meant even more to him when the submissive woman was powerful
too. Irrational, somehow, but when the yielding was only temporary, to him it
was sweeter and finer.
His fingernails dug into the blotter on his desk as his vivid imagination presented
him with the picture of Vicki reading on her e-reader in bed.
There she was, covers thrown back, her thin silk robe gaping wide to reveal
her wonderful body and her legs akimbo. Her lush mouth was parted on a sigh,
and she cradled the reader with one hand while the other was firmly lodged between
her thighs. Pale, elegant fingers worked furiously amongst the pretty tawny
curls down there.
Red looked down at his own hands again, imagining what they could do to a woman
like Vicki. Especially if he found her masturbating without his permission.
He studied his nails, which he liked to keep immaculately manicured. Hands were
important in games of pain and pleasure. They were the most crucial tools. He
stared at his short nails and imagined dragging them lightly, or perhaps quite
firmly, across the reddened skin of Vicki’s freshly spanked bottom.
What would she feel like across his lap? She was a beautifully proportioned
woman. Not skinny. Not fat. She had curves, but her toned shape said she took
good care of herself. He could almost feel her writhing against him, jostling
his cock as he alternately caressed her and struck her. Because he was satisfying
her fetish, she would be heavily aroused, with silky moisture seeping out from
between her legs and anointing his jeans. She might even climax spontaneously
if his blows were delivered with the right degree of force and precision. He
imagined spanking her right across her anus and hearing her cry out both in
pleasure and in pain.
What the flaming hell is the matter with me?
Pulling off his virtually redundant spectacles, Red gazed ceilingwards instead,
almost appalled by the intensity of his own response, never mind the imagined
response of Vicki. His cock was rigid, agonizingly so, and right now it would
be a serious embarrassment for him even just to stand up. Never mind make his
way to the men’s room so he could masturbate and ease his acute discomfort.
No, he was going to have to tough it out. Do more mental exercises. Thought-clearing
meditation. Maybe even check in with his PA on the sly to see if there was anything
requiring his immediate attention or a decision. And maybe when he’d done
all those things, he’d be able to sneak away and bring himself off. He
took a deep breath and began the secret invisible ritual.
But focus and detachment, which had always been so easy for him, proved elusive.
The meditation didn’t work. He could only think of Vicki, a woman who
seemed to have affected him in an almost—no, completely—unprecedented
If I don’t move things forward, I’ll go crazy.
So instead he set his mind to solving his problem. The problem of how to bring
himself and Vicki Renard into close proximity without her realizing how she’d
got there and who’d brought it about.
After a few moments he smiled and reached for his BlackBerry as the perfect
Available from Carina Press, Kindle
UK, All Romance eBooks, Diesel Ebooks and Barnes
and Noble Nook
Intimate Exposure by Portia Da Costa
Carina Press ® 2011
© 2011 Portia Da Costa
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher