Driftwood Deeds, Breaking in Waves #1
an erotic novella by Laila Blake
December 8th, 2013
Genre: Literary Erotica / Erotic Romance / BDSM Romance
Length: 28k words
Tags: Love, Sex, Beach, Ocean, BDSM, D/s, spanking, Age Difference
When journalist Iris Ellis visits a sleepy seaside town to interview recluse screenwriter Paul Archer, he offers her insights into never acted upon fantasies of dominance and submission. Too curious to deny herself a taste of them, Iris gives herself up to Paul’s gentle guidance, but when she realizes that a taste can never be enough, she must find the courage to ask for what she needs or risk losing it all.
Called a “gem for fans of BDSM romance and the perfect starting point for readers new to the genre” by RT Book Reviews, Driftwood Deeds is a novella of sexual awakening as well as consent and communication in bdsm.
Driftwood Deeds is a 28.000 words erotic novella, covering adult themes and bdsm. It is the first installment in the Breaking in Waves trilogy.
“So you think I like broken things?” I asked after a long time, voice warm and tinged in this quiet, restful moment. Paul Archer looked at me over the rim of his cup, which he held in both hands as though it was an Asian bowl.
“I think you understand them, notice them,” he corrected, then tilted his head, put the cup down and pulled his glasses from his face. It made him look strangely characterless while he wiped the hot water condensation from the lenses before resetting the glasses on his nose in that charming gesture. “And maybe, you feel drawn to them, too.”
There was something in his eyes, a shadow maybe or a sense of foreboding, and I looked away. I realized too late that my heart was thrumming in my chest with the speed of a runaway train. I cleared my throat and looked at the table. My eyes focused on a small collection of shark teeth, small and gray around a single huge one: a tooth that might lodge itself in a limb with the strength of an industrial claw. He seemed to understand my need for retreat; and didn’t speak again for a long time. I, in turn, didn’t look at him until I could control my senses. And maybe that was just what he wanted, to let me feel safe just for a few minutes.
“Can I call you Iris?” he asked out of the blue and my eyes were dragged back up to his face. He was smiling—possibly with an apology edged into his features.
For as long as it took me to inhale far too much air for a simple answer, I wondered what would happen if I said no. I could have fetched my tape recorder and my notebook and we could have done this interview. There was still time, and afterwards I’d have called a late taxi to that B&B and in the morning, I would have taken the first train home.
But I didn’t say no. I nodded.
“Iris,” he repeated and the old-fashioned name I hardly ever had any true emotional bond with, suddenly sounded warm and colorful.
“I did not ask you here because I wanted to sleep with you, but I do now.”