Having sampled the forbidden fruits of her online antics, Savannah wants more. Her penchant for voyeurism unlocks a new dimension in her relationship with Arcas, not to mention a boudoir of new thrills...RPGs, corsets and monsters, oh my!
With the success of her blog, demands from Savannah’s online fans means she can earn money from strangers and satisfy her curiosity.
And all those wicked Regency fantasies offer plenty of material. Namely, what the commanding Duke would do to Emmaline in the confines of the carriage. And the dressing room. And the masquerade ball. Savannah’s imagination knows no bounds, and her appetite for this historical couple is heightened by the arrival of Lady Dewberry and the devilish Lord Walcott.
But when Savannah finds herself targeted by zealots, the ugly truth about her childhood begins to emerge. As her relationship with Arcas comes under pressure, Savannah must make a choice: to conceal the past or finally confront her demons.
With Arcas’ encouragement, Savannah hovers between two worlds, indulging in her new online career and fantasizing about a fictional one she hasn’t had the pleasure of knowing. Yet.
Savannah’s desire always began in her clit. The tell-tale pulsing, the silent rhythmic throbbing captivated her, holding her in its thrall. Spellbound.
She was learning so much about her sexuality, discovering new kinks and fetishes, finding out what it was that aroused her.
A bit of dom/sub action. Super hot.
Pup play. Super not.
But there was no judgment in her exploration. No shame. Nothing off limits.
Arcas was a generous and open-minded lover. Their sex-life in the past three months had been like unlocking some secret level in a game.
Wondrous, new, and a little fucking scary.
Which was why she was eager and yet nervous as she approached the luxurious estate miles away from the city, about to embark on her first orgy.
The ranch-style home was one of many exclusive properties that dotted the Victorian coastline. Arcas had pointed out the sheer number of convertibles and boutique stores as she drove through Somerton, slowing to a crawl every now and then to gawk at the locals. Every person they spotted seemed to be out of some high-end fashion advertisement. Perfect hair, expensive clothes and a decent fake tan. It was odd and yet fascinating but not enough to distract her from the trepidation that danced along her spine.
Savannah drove through the gated security of the estate and along the winding driveway, secured on either side by large hedgerows. She felt simultaneously comforted and claustrophobic.
Until she spotted the house. It sprawled out in front of them, stretching across the paved drive and extending out farther than she could see. If the grandiosity of the home wasn’t enough to make her feel nervous, the sheer newness of this experience did.
She took her time getting out of the car, smoothing down her dress, admiring the plants and flowers. But she couldn’t hang out in the driveway forever. Savannah straightened her spine as they approached the front door.
Arcas waited patiently beside her, giving her a light pat on her butt for encouragement. A hell of a lot had changed in three months, including the spectacular success of her online sex blog, ‘Sexcapades.’ She was fast building up many sexual experiences, which meant a ton of material to write about, not that she could document everything. Lord knew, she tried.
“You know you have to ring the bell to gain entry, right?”
Savannah turned to her boyfriend. His green eyes were bright with mischief.
“I think I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s totally normal.”
“Bec said she’d be coming, right?”
“She did. And that the people who rock up here are legit. It’s exclusive and selective. They know about your blog, and that you’ve got a private channel. It’s all above board.”
The private channel had been created when a few individuals wanted to take her journaling and sexual experiences to a new level. They’d wanted to watch her have sex online. To see her pleasure herself, making requests in the process.
After chatting with Arcas about the safety measures they would put in place, she had set up an exclusive, private group. Which meant that if anyone actually wanted to watch her orgasm, they could. If they paid.
And boy did they pay.
It had been more popular than she had expected. She was still becoming accustomed to this line of work, not to mention the wonderfully liberating nature of exploring her sexuality with strangers. Savannah nodded. Drawing in a deep breath, she rang the bell. “It’s orgy time.”
About Ida Brady
Ida Brady writes spicy contemporary and erotic romance that packs all the heat! From humour, to heartbreak, to happily ever after, you're guaranteed a steamy read with all the tropes. Enemies to lovers, billionaire, virgin, menage...you name it, she writes it!
Ida is a lover of chocolate and thunderstorms. When she isn't trying to tame her intractable curls, she's running after her little ones, usually with a book in hand. Ida lives in the hustle and bustle of Melbourne's CBD with her Irish husband and their out of control collection of books. She sometimes daydreams about having a huge library in her home but will settle for stacking novels in the kitchen drawers instead.
In her past life, Ida taught VCE Literature and English to a gaggle of teenagers. While she misses their enthusiasm, she sure as hell doesn't miss marking papers. You might find her dancing the Argentine tango in her spare time, which isn't often these days. She loves travelling with her family, observing strangers at cafés and getting lost in a good story.
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Visit: www.idabrady.com
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