Surrender to Me
Courtesans Tales, Book 6
© 2016 Jasmine Haynes
Originally published in the 2010 the anthology Hers for the Evening
“The sex is scorching a la Haynes and had me eagerly turning the pages.”
Night Owl Reviews
“This is the second sizzling hot installment about the courtesans and the magic they weave for true love. A really hot read!”
“Erotic and utterly satisfying on every level.”
Reader to Reader Reviews
A glitzy, sensual world of powerful people and the courtesans they’ll pay anything to have.
An exclusive and secret agency, for over two hundred years Courtesans has specialized in providing entertainment of a sexual nature. Its clients are rich, powerful, and influential men and women, and one only meets a courtesan through referral from trusted sources. Courtesans facilitates bringing together men and women to satisfy any sexual need imaginable, matching the perfect courtesan with just the right client. The agency prides itself on training its courtesans, male and female, to interpret and fulfill its client’s greatest fantasies, even the secret ones no one dares to say aloud. The price is high, but everyone who’s ever had the pleasure of a date with a courtesan will agree, the fantasy is worth every penny. And sometimes it changes your life.
A year ago, Haley Ventura’s husband died in the arms of another woman, but the man Haley can’t forgive is her husband’s business partner, Simon Foster. She considered Simon one of her closest friends, but he betrayed that friendship by keeping her husband’s infidelities a secret.
Simon has loved Haley for years, but one thing he’s never done is steal another man’s woman, even if that man is being an ass. Telling Haley about her husband, however, would have been self-serving, not altruistic. He couldn’t do it. Yet his silence blew up in his face.
But Haley is a passionate woman, and now her physical desires need fulfilling. She turns to a mysterious man she meets on the Internet. What she wants: her first BDSM experience. Little does she know, her mystery man is Simon. And he’s oh so willing to give her whatever she wants, with a little help from Isabel of Courtesans. In doing so, Simon believes he’ll win the ultimate prize, Haley’s heart. Or will everything blow up in his face all over again?
The Courtesans Tales in order
The Girlfriend Experience
Three’s a Crowd
Surrender to Me
The Only Way Out
The Wrong Kind of Man
No Second Chances
Surrender to Me
Courtesans Tales, Book 6
© 2016 Jasmine Haynes
Haley Ventura had curves a man could sink his fingers into. Simon Foster wanted nothing more than to worship those curves. He’d be so damn good for her. And she for him.
Seducing her would have been so much easier if she didn’t hate him.
Strike one was falling in love with her when she was married to his business partner and former best friend. Not telling her that said business partner, former best friend and her husband, was having an affair made for strike two. Strike three, bearing the news that Artie had died of a heart attack in bed with his lover. And the strike out? The fact that it was Simon’s bed they’d been using. Haley never believed Simon didn’t know they were meeting in his house.
Simon hadn’t purged his emotions for her. It simply seemed shitty to seduce the widow before her husband had been in the ground a year. Even if Artie had been cheating on her.
Haley’s year was up.
Now all Simon needed was a strategy. He didn’t usually plan out a seduction, but Haley was special. He figured he’d only get one shot, and he didn’t want any fuckups.
Maybe a Valentine’s Day thing. That was only a month away. He wasn’t the roses, hearts, and romance kind of guy, though. She’d see right through him, and think he was just horny. Simon had to admit he was always horny. Turning fifty sure as hell hadn’t reduced his sex drive.
He was considering horniness and Haley as he pulled his truck into Foster-Ventura’s parking lot. A contracting company specializing in remodels and insurance work, the guys were in the field most of the time, so they rented only a small suite of offices out of a larger building in Saratoga. The Saturday morning was bright and unseasonably hot for January. Even in the Bay Area.
The real bright spot? Haley’s SUV was parked by the front door. The sight gave his heart a kickstart. Haley, an accountant, did the books and all the receivables and payables for the business. That hadn’t changed with Artie’s death. Now Haley was half owner. Construction was generally slower in the winter, but the couple of weeks of good weather had seen a miniboom for them. They also did demolition work, fires, water damage, asbestos removal. Most contractors didn’t have the proper asbestos licensing, which gave Foster-Ventura a leg up on the competition. As for Haley’s schedule, it was year-end for them and all the accounting work that went with it. She’d always been a hard worker, something he’d admired from the moment she came to work for the partnership twelve years ago. He should have snapped her up right away, but he hadn’t even thought about settling down back then. So he missed his chance. Because Artie was ready for her.
Water under the bridge. He climbed out of the truck, slammed the door, and took the three steps to the front entrance in a single bound.
The door was locked—kinda strange—and the front office was empty. He rounded Haley’s desk. She’d refused to move into Artie’s vacant office, preferring to stay out front. Simon figured she didn’t want any more reminders than necessary. Artie’s office was strictly storage space now. Colored fish swam across her computer monitor. A quick glance into the break room showed she wasn’t there either. She must have run across the street to the Starbucks. He only had a couple of things he wanted to check, so instead of booting up his own machine—in his office—he tapped Haley’s keyboard. She wouldn’t mind. They had a LAN and shared files.
She had a spreadsheet up, but he popped over to her open Internet window. It took long moments for his brain to catch up with his eyes. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine Haley looking at . . . ads for casual sex?
No way, that wasn’t her. She was a sexy lady, but sort of prudish. Simon had closed his ears to the stuff Artie said. He’d refused to discuss their sex life. As a couple, they’d been his best friends. At one time. Before Artie starting cheating. And Artie’s excuse? Because Haley wasn’t a firecracker in bed. Didn’t want to be. It even embarrassed her.
The ad’s subject line emblazoning the screen wasn’t prudish at all.
You know you want to be my sex slave.
* * * * *
Holy hell. She was into bondage?
He couldn’t help reading, mesmerized. It wasn’t a coarse, crass advertisement for dirty sex. It was a story. He read as if he were seeing straight into the deepest, darkest corner of her heart and soul.
Be prepared. You will do whatever I say and love it. I call as I am walking to your door. Unlocking it, you wait for me. On your knees . . . wearing nothing but a pair of sexy high heels. I close the door, stand in front of you, and undo my jeans. Taking my cock out, you slip the head into your mouth. I run my fingers through your hair as I caress your throat with my cock. Your tongue is all over the shaft and head and it keeps me hard. Finally I pull out and order you to give me your hands. I shackle you with wrist cuffs, pull you close, and place a thin leather collar around your neck. With my finger through the ring in your collar, I lead you to your bed, sit you on it, and fasten both wrists to the headboard. You belong to me now. I kiss your lovely neck, lick your abundant breasts, and suck on your luscious nipples. You feel my hard cock between your gorgeous, sexy legs. I pinch your pretty skin, leaving a few nice red marks so you can remember me after I’m gone. Something you can look at in the mirror the next few mornings when you finish your shower. Kissing and licking my way to your hips, I move between your legs, placing my mouth over your beautiful pussy lips. You shudder with delight. I suck on the inside of your thigh. I love the taste of you. Holding your chin in my hand, you are my captive, my slave, and I remind you that it is the weekend. No one is expecting to hear from you until Monday. You are mine to do with as I wish for days.
Do you like this fantasy so far? Do you need to hear more? Do you want to meet me and be my slave?
Simon’s cock pulsed as if it had a life of its own. And fuck, it wanted Haley. If she’d been standing in front of him, he’d have bent her over the desk and taken her hard and fast. Maybe he would have tied her hands first. Christ, maybe he’d have tied himself up in her long, silky, touchable chestnut hair.
Flipping to her Internet history, he checked out the other ads she’d viewed on the site. Three of them, all submissive or bondage stuff from being cuffed or tied to spanking, phrased eloquently enough that it didn’t seem a man could have written them. Or they were written by men who understood how to tap into the feminine psyche. Sexy and titillating without being crude and obscene, they appealed to a woman’s need for fantasy. He was about to click into her e-mail to see if she’d answered any when he caught himself. What the hell was he doing? Spying on her. Invading her privacy.
Simon had never done that. Never gossiped, never spied, never stuck his nose in someone else’s business. That code had ruined his relationship with Haley. As much as he’d thought Artie was an ass for cheating, he’d never felt it was his right to tell Haley. Somehow, because of his feelings for her, to tell felt self-serving.
Yet here he was, spying on the very woman whose trust he hoped to regain. It was a momentary lapse into thinking with his dick. He was better now. Simon shut down all the windows he’d clicked on and maximized the spreadsheet file the way she’d had it.
Fuck. No little fishies swimming back and forth. She’d realize he’d seen something. It couldn’t be helped. He was above changing the screen saver wait time to hide his dirty deeds. However, if they came back on before she returned, he’d call it providence. In the break room, he poured himself a cup of coffee, then headed down the short hall to his office, passing the restroom.
And stopped. He’d heard a sound. There it was again, more clearly identifiable as a . . . voice. Inside the restroom. A wave of heat rolled through his body, and the dick he’d gotten under control flared to life, hot, hard, and ready for action.
She moaned again. Oh yeah, that was a moan and that was Haley. They had a receptionist who came in three times a week, but not on Saturdays. Saskia was a sixty-five-year-old grandmother. He couldn’t picture her locked inside the restroom moaning like that.
Mother of God, he could picture Haley. He couldn’t stop picturing her. She was masturbating. She’d gotten hot looking at Internet sex ads and run to the restroom to relieve the built-up tension.
The moans came faster, sharper, louder. She cried out, and there was no mistaking her voice. She came forever. Simon thought his head would explode. Or his dick. His breath caught, his heart pounded, and his palms began to sweat.
If he stayed there much longer, he’d start jerking off in the corridor. The break room seemed the only logical place to hide out. If he went to his office, she’d guess he’d heard. His hands were shaking as he added another spoonful of creamer and stirred. The coffee was now milk-white and undrinkable, but he drank anyway to keep himself busy. No woman had ever affected him this way, and he’d had more than his share of ladies. He’d truly cared for a good number of them, too, but only Haley had ever made his heart pound like this. Maybe it was because he’d been her friend without fucking her. She was, in fact, his only female friend. Or at least she had been until Artie’s frantic lover called him to say she thought he’d died in Simon’s bed. Simon had called 911, but Artie was already dead from a massive coronary.
Haley never forgave Simon. As his punishment, he’d started craving her more. Now he had the hot memory of her moans and cries to add to his storehouse.
He had to make his move soon. What if she answered one of those ads?
A smile grew on his lips, like the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas. What if she answered an ad?
And it was his?
* * * * *
Damn, she’d needed that. When Haley turned forty a couple of months ago, her hormones started raging as if she were a teenager. All she thought was sex, sex, sex, cruising personal ads to titillate herself. Pathetically, she’d even started carrying her vibrator in her purse.
Haley washed off the instrument of her perversion, put it away, tucked her long-sleeved tee into her jeans, and buckled her belt. She hadn’t been with a man since Artie’d died. He’d destroyed her faith, in men, and worse, in herself. She didn’t want to put herself out there again. Ever. Lord have mercy, though, her libido had gone into hyperdrive. How long till menopause? Didn’t a woman lose sexual desire then?
She’d lingered this morning, longer than her usual quickie, but it had felt so good, and she’d needed the multiple orgasms badly. Might have been better to be more quiet about it, too, but letting go made the climax that much harder. It was Saturday, she had her privacy. Throwing away the paper towel and slinging her purse over her shoulder, she opened the door. Now that she’d satisfied one urge, she needed a mocha in the worst way.
She almost screamed when Simon ran into her coming out of the break room. He was so big, he dwarfed her, tall compared to her five two, with big shoulders and a wide chest. He smelled good, like hot, sweaty sex.
“How long have you been here?” Her skin flushed from head to toe. She’d been so loud in the restroom.
He held up his mug. “Long enough for coffee.”
She glanced around the doorjamb to the back of her monitor. She couldn’t remember what she’d left up on her computer desktop. Not that Simon would bother looking at her PC, but it still left her flustered. She’d been reading and getting hotter and wetter and hornier, then she’d grabbed her purse, with only enough presence of mind to lock the front door, and practically ran to the bathroom.
She backed off to scan Simon’s face. Same laugh lines and silver eyes that matched his hair. She’d always thought him handsome. They’d been friends a long time ago.
Then Artie died, and she saw how she’d been lied to.
Why the hell couldn’t she let go of the bitterness?
“I’m making myself a mocha. You want one?” she offered. She might be an angry, bitter bitch but she tried to be civil. They owned the business together. Simon had never offered to buy her out, and no way could she afford to buy him out. Artie had left her with a load of debt, credit cards she’d known nothing about. She’d finally gotten a handle on her finances, consolidating, securing a second mortgage on the house to take advantage of the lower interest rate. At least she could sleep at night now. Hmm. Her lower stress level could be another reason her libido had resurfaced.
“Yeah, thanks, a mocha would be great,” Simon answered, but didn’t move aside. Was there something in that silver-eyed gaze?
Please don’t let him have heard.
Finally he backed off, letting her pass.
She shoved her purse far back on the countertop, making sure it was latched shut. Wouldn’t do for Simon to see what was inside. Pulling the coffee from the freezer, she then retrieved the milk from the fridge. Odd how she felt about Simon. Artie was the one who cheated, yet she’d felt the betrayal so much more keenly over Simon. He was her friend, he knew about Artie and that woman, yet he’d never told her.
She heated the milk and hot chocolate in the microwave, otherwise the mocha chilled too fast. Steaming wasn’t enough.
“Want me to tamp the coffee?” Simon said, almost at her ear.
She gasped. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry.” A smile lurked. More often than not, Simon was laughing at something. Always good-humored, Simon never seemed to get down or depressed. He took the coffee from her hand. The muscles of his arms bulged as he compressed the espresso grind. She had to admit that with his superior strength, he could pack it harder, which allowed her to steam longer.
Why did that sound sexual?
Her clitoris throbbed. Her breath seemed shallower. Simon was so . . . male. He’d always had this physical effect on her. She might have acted on those feelings way back when, but Artie had warned her, citing a laundry list of reasons. Simon wasn’t the settling kind; he thought of women as sex objects; he wanted variety. Simon was a horn dog, as much now as when they’d first met. The difference between him and Artie was that Simon never professed to be anything else. He’d always treated her with respect, too.
Artie had been the charmer—or the snake oil salesman depending on how you looked at it. He brought in the new customers with his fancy talk, but it was Simon who produced the repeat business. He was more low-key, sure, but he got the company into demolition work and on the approved vendor list for insurance companies. That’s what saved the firm when the economy tanked. Though she’d only begun to comprehend all these things months after Artie’s death.
She’d allowed Artie to charm her the same as he did everyone else. She’d believed him when he claimed he was the settling kind.
Sometimes Haley wished she could have talked to Simon about it all. The debts. The other woman. How long had Artie been cheating? Right from the beginning or . . . later? After all the fights about money, after the accusations that she was trying to control him? When?
But Simon had deceived her by omission. She’d lost both her husband and her best friend on the same day, and she could never forgive Simon for betraying her that way.