Excerpt from "Mastering Maya"

The doorbell started her from her lascivious memories. Maya glanced at the clock. Seven on the dot. With a sigh, she smoothed her embroidered velvet caftan over her hips and ran her fingers through her hair. The bell came again, more insistent. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the hall to admit the snake she'd invited into her Eden.

She'd expected leather, a motorcycle jacket and chaps, perhaps, or well-worn denim. Instead he wore a tuxedo, which fit his lean, muscular body like it had been custom tailored. His dark hair was slicked back from his brow and there was no sign of the bad-boy stubble he'd been sporting the night they'd met. Despite the cutting autumn wind, he was coatless.

"Mistress Maya." Her name, her title, in that deep, rough voice, melted her resistance. "May I come in?"

"Please do, Master Shark." She stood aside so that he could enter, but he paused, drinking her in with his eyes. When he raised his hand to her throat, Maya cringed despite herself. He laid a single chilly finger on the pulse point below her jaw, reading her unwilling excitement in its race. For a dozen breaths, he held her there, transfixed, as warmth seeped from her skin to his. Then he traced a line down her neck to where the caftan revealed her cleavage -- but no further. Her nipples peaked into aching knots nevertheless.

"You look lovely, as always."

"Thank you." His formality confused her. The emails they'd exchanged since the Friday munch had been casual and arch, filled with sarcasm and double entendres. Stephen had suggested they handle negotiations in advance, in order to avoid breaking the mood of their encounter. Now he knew the few limits she'd been willing to identify -- no gags, no choking, no unprotected penetration -- and the safe word she'd chosen.

Maya led the way to her parlour, with her visitor trailing behind. His eyes wandered down her back, over the swell of her buttocks -- she felt the weight of his gaze, though he never touched her. Lubrication welled from her pussy and trickled down the insides of her thighs. She wore nothing under the caftan, as he had instructed.

"Stop." She halted as suddenly as if he'd tugged on a leash. Behind her, he gathered her heavy tresses in one hand, drawing them aside to bare her neck. Chill air touched the normally protected skin, then warmth and wetness. The kiss he planted at her nape sent shivers of pleasure racing to her pussy. His other hand gripped her upper arm -- the strength of that grip making her gasp -- while he licked along the curve running from her hairline to her shoulder. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to bask in the sensation of liquid heat.

He pushed her loose garment off her shoulder. Was he starting so soon? Then she yelped as he sank his teeth into her deltoid.

"What the fuck?" She whirled to face him. "That hurt!"

"BDSM often involves some pain." His mildness infuriated her. "But of course you know that. You agreed I could do as I wish, didn't you?"

The bite throbbed in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Her clit seemed to pulse in time. "Yes, yes. I'm sorry, you startled me." In her flats, she was six inches shorter than he. She gazed up at his face, trying to read him. The dangerous gleam she saw in his eyes sent new shivers dancing through her.

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