Free A Dirty Little Deal by Theda Hudson

Chapter 1
    Don't get me wrong. Tasha Carlson is gorgeous. Every time I see her I get a hard on from here to there. Legs, with tight muscles on the backs of her calves, going straight up to heaven. A mouth that is soft and sweet to kiss. Big, round breasts with rosy nipples that tighten up to pegs and beg to be tweaked.
    And that's the problem. They may be begging, but she is definitely not. Not even a little, even though I can see the desire bubbling, ready to boil over into full-blown passion.
    Because passion is not lady-like. And Tasha is a total lady. At least that's what she tells herself and me. I know better, and I've decided that either I must turn up the heat and make the tea kettle sing or I'm done with this relationship.
    And I don't want to be done with her. She's what I've been looking for--smart, beautiful, driven. But I want some overt sexuality to tie the ribbon around that package.
    Not that she isn't sexual.
    Oh, I get her in bed regularly. Oh, God, she's like a goddess laid out against the maroon cotton sheets, her eyes shining in the dim light. She smells great, too, a little Grammercy Twilight , a little sweat, and her own personal musk. But it's all very straight-laced, and not in any kind of bondage way. And by the book. Her book. Which is nowhere near as fun as my "Love to Make You Come as Many Ways as I Can" book.
    No, her book has a lot of rules about what's okay and what's not. I've decided we can only have one book and I want it to be mine, along with her.
    So I set her up for an opportunity to make her let go of her rules and discover what she's missing. I bought two memberships to the Darker Wings Convention.
    Touching the receipt in my breast pocket, I hefted the colorful shopping bags from Ashes to Fashion as I walk up to her door. The bags will be the first hurdle. The dress would be fine, a satiny black pencil dress with a cutaway back and decorative frogging on the front. Even the stockings with subtle clocking at the ankles wouldn't cause a fuss.
    But the shoes. Oh, my. I got a rise just thinking how the backs of her calves would look as her legs rose up out of the patent leather fuck me heels. I got a larger one out of imagining her bent over the couch in those heels, as I slipped her a bigger than Lebowski's. I'd slap her ass to see it jiggle and hang on to her hips and watch in the foyer mirror as I watched her glorious tits jouncing while I ride her.
    But first I had to get her out of the sensible heels she always wore. Because nothing about my plan was sensible and I wanted her to be off balance. Which would make it easier to push her over the edge.
    I stared at my reflection in the cut out of Tasha's front door. I look good in my costume. Black hair casually mussed. She says she likes the boyish look it gives me. The black raw silk jacket is nubbly, completely not my style. I'm usually a buttoned up guy because that's what's expected in the private equity world. And skinny ties have been out for a while, especially paired with black jeans and a sateen cotton shirt.
    I rolled my head on my shoulders as I rehearsed my negotiating points. If she'd do this, I'd go to the symphony with her this season. Every show she wanted, even The Messiah . All three hours of it. Hell, I'd even buy the tickets and make the donation to the fund.
    That should be enough for the shoes. I just had to hope the rest would follow. Because after the carrot would come the stick. And I would hate it if she forced me to use it.

Dirty Little Dare, Dirty Little Book 2
     
    Since that early summer night in the garage, Cara Mia had graduated from bent over against the concrete wall with her torn dress rucked up over her hips to laid out on my kitchen table, yes, with all the dishes still on the table, although shoved to the end.
    Okay, she got a little wild and shoved several pieces off the table, where they smashed into a million pieces, just as Mr. Twist pushed her over her own edge. I thought the crashing noise was