Undone Rebel releases today from Ellora’s Cave!
Undone Rebel tells the story of a woman who’s tough, smart and rockabilly chic. When this rebel meets a man whose easygoing demeanor masks a sexual Dom she’ll find out exactly what it takes to make her come undone.
Book one in the Undone Lovers series.
When amateur fetish model and rockabilly princess Adelita “Addie” Sanchez is asked to model for an instructional BDSM book, she turns the offer down—she’s not a porn star. Then she meets the three male Dominants behind the project, including Lane Therres, who convinces her the book is more art than porn, and she’ll be safe in his hands.
The rules of the photo sessions are clear—there’s no sex, and Addie can call a halt to anything she’s uncomfortable with. But self-reliant, strong-willed Addie doesn’t count on liking what the powerful Doms do to her body with their ropes, chains and toys. Enjoying Emory’s touch after falling for Lane, Addie turns away from both men, scared of what they’re making her feel. She’s worried that a relationship built on a BDSM contract can never be anything but whips and chains.
Lane will exchange Dom leather for shining armor to prove to his rockabilly princess that even the most gallant knights sometimes prefer dungeons.
An Excerpt from Undone Rebel
Copyright Lila Dubois, 2012
Addie hung her jacket on its padded hanger before slipping off the matching skirt. She carefully folded squares of tissue over the edges before clipping it to a hanger and putting skirt and jacket in her overflowing closet.
Wearing her bra, panties, garter and stockings, she slipped on a white silk robe painted with a stylized pinup doll on the back, a gift from an old boyfriend, and headed into the living room.
Addie’s apartment was a chaotic mix of fabric and knickknacks. She’d given up on a couch in order to make room for a craft table and sewing machines against the one wall with a window, so she dropped into the extra-large chair positioned in front of her TV. Lulu had given her the whole day off to meet with the modeling job people.
“Modeling, my ass.” Addie picked up a vintage top from the basket beside her chair and thumbed open the little bottle of beads she’d found to match the beading on the shoulders. She’d cleaned and repaired the top, now all that was left was repairing the beadwork. When it was done she’d sell it. She could use the money…plus it was too small for her.
She was only ten beads in when there was a knock on the door. Figuring it was her neighbor, Mrs. Gardener, who liked to keep track of Addie since Mrs. Gardener’s own twenty-something grandkids were too far away for the old sweetheart to pester, Addie didn’t bother to get dressed.
She opened the door, but it wasn’t Mrs. Gardener on the other side.
A six-foot blond in a black leather jacket was leaning against the wall just outside her door.
Addie put her hand on the door, pulled it closed a little, prepared to shut it in his face if the situation went south.
“Can I help you?”
“Depends who’s asking. What do you want?”
He pushed away from the wall and stood in the doorway, invading her space. “I want to have a conversation with a pretty woman.”
“And I,” Addie put her finger in the center of his chest and pushed, “don’t trust pretty boys.”
Addie closed the door, but the man slid his foot between the door and the jamb. Addie jumped back, prepared to run for a phone and call 9-1-1 if he made a move she didn’t like.
He pushed the door open again and held up one hand. “I’m not coming in, I just thought you might like it if I didn’t say what I have to say through the door.”
Addie cocked her hip, felt the robe slide open a bit. “And what is it you have to say?”
The blond’s gaze had dropped to her breasts and the lacy bra that was peeking out from the widening slit in her robe.
“I’m working with C&C Productions.” He leaned against the doorjamb. A few locks of hair fell across his forehead as he tipped his head down and smiled at her. He was handsome, if a little too clean-cut for her taste. She liked her men to be tattooed retro gentlemen who could refurbish a car as well as they danced. This guy was frat-boy handsome all grown up and sexy, though if he was a porn star it was a clean-cut veneer over skanky man-whore interior.
“Oh.” Addie pulled her robe closed. “I already told the lady I wasn’t interested.”
“I’m one of the other models. I thought we could talk about it.”
“Listen, porn star, I’m not interested.
“I’m not a porn star. I’m a systems engineer.”
“A computer geek. It’s true. Here.” He fished his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card.
Addie took a tentative step closer and accepted the card.
“This is really you?” She held the card up. “Lane.”
“Yep. Lane Therres. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You’re a geek consultant.” Addie was still examining the card. Everything felt out of synch, as if she were dancing a half beat off the music. The blond—Lane—was a piece that didn’t fit with the day’s admittedly strange happenings.
He laughed lightly. “That sums it up. Maybe I should have that on the cards.”
“If this is really you, what are you doing modeling for porn? I think your geek boss will be upset.”
“I rarely interface with clients, I build systems on the back end. Plus, it’s not porn. It’s art.”
“And there’s a stack of ‘art’ pictures guys conned women into taking that end up as internet porn.”
“Can I show you something?”
“If you whip out your dick, I’m calling the cops.”
“No dick.” He looked over his shoulder. “I think.”
Addie lunged for her phone. “That’s it, alpha delta porno, I’m calling the cops.”
“Alpha what? There’s no need to call the cops.”
“The catchphrase of psycho porn stars everywhere, I’m sure. Deja.”
“Deja.” He rolled the word nicely. “That means ‘leave,’ doesn’t it?”
“Very good. Buh-bye then.”
Lane ducked out of the doorway for a second and reappeared holding a book. “This is all I want to show you.” It looked like the same book Helen had tried to show her.
“Strangely, you haven’t left.”
“Weird, isn’t it? Can I come in?” He didn’t wait for her answer but stepped in, closing the door behind him. He made her happily cluttered apartment seem small.
Addie picked up a stone calavera—skull—decorated for Dia de los Muertos from the shelf at her shoulder. It easily weighed five pounds. “Do you regularly force your way into women’s apartments?”
“This is a first, actually.”
“I feel so special. It’s going to be even more special when I bash your head in.”
“With a sparkly skull? There’s some irony in there.”
Addie narrowed her eyes. “You’re making it hard to hate you.”
“I was socially inept until college, so thank you, it’s good to know the years of hard work learning to talk to women have paid off.”
“I’m still going to hit you. I’ll try to avoid your pretty-boy face.”
“The fact that I’m holding a conversation with a woman whose robe has come undone is even more amazing.”
Shit. Addie looked down and Lane jumped across the room, snatching the skull from her. Her robe was still in place, though it had slipped to one side, exposing her left breast in its leopard-and-cream lace bra. She pulled it in place and sighed. Lane was tossing the skull in the air and grinning.
“You’re in. I’m unarmed. What do you want?”
“Just to talk, and to show you this.” He held up the book.
“Fine, we’ll talk. Put down my skull.”
He set the jeweled piece on a table behind him. He looked around her living room, having the raised brow reaction most people did when they saw she had more sewing supplies than furniture.
“Have a seat,” Addie said. She curled into her armchair, tucking her robe securely under her legs so it wouldn’t slip, and motioned to the matching ottoman.
Lane sat then jumped up. “Fuck!” He picked up the beaded top she’s been working on. The needle was sticking up out of the fabric and had, predictably, found its way into his ass.
Addie’s lips twitched. “Pain in your ass?”
“Funny.” He set the sewing aside and swept his hand across the ottoman before sitting. “Maybe we should start over.” He held out his hand. “I’m Lane Therres.”
“Addie Sanchez.” His handshake was firm and very warm.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Addie. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
“You mean fucking me, and it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to be part of your little porn.”
“I wouldn’t do porn either. I’m a normal guy. Well, sort of. The project Helen wants you for isn’t porn.”
“Then what is it?” Addie asked, exasperated.
“It’s probably easier to show you.” He held out the book. “This is the last project C&C did. It’s an informational book of sorts. It’s got stories, explanations and most importantly, photos.”
Addie flipped open the book.
Foot Fetish—The sole of devotion.
“This is a book about foot fetishes?”
“Yes. Don’t freak out, just turn the page.”
She raised a brow. “Do I look like the kind of woman who freaks out?”
Addie flipped the glossy page and skimmed the first few lines of text. It talked about the history of foot fetishism, the beauty of the fetish, the variations that were possible. “This makes it sound like the only way to show someone you love them is to,” she skimmed the page, “lick their shoes.”
“That’s how some people feel.”
She skipped the next pages of text, stopping when she got to the first photo. It was a full-page black-and-white image of a woman’s calf and foot. A glossy, black high heel dangled from her toes.
The next image was the same woman’s foot, but now a man was kissing it. In the next photo he licked the side of the shoe. Another flip and the man was licking the sole of her bare foot.
The images were beautiful, well lit and composed, yet clearly sexual.
It wasn’t porn.
“This is all it is, pictures of men licking chicks’ feet?”
“Well, no, it gets more explicit than that.”
Lane reached over to flip the pages, his fingers brushing hers as he did. They both looked up, gazes holding for a moment. His eyes were blue, and more intense than his laid-back manner would have suggested.
Addie looked away first.
Sliding his thumb between the thick pages, he opened it near the back. The toe of a woman’s glossy purple boot was balanced on the tensed swell of a man’s ass. The spiked heel of the boot pressed into his balls.
“Men like this?” Addie knew a little about foot fetish from pop culture, but this was something entirely different.
“No, not my thing.”
“And BDSM is?” She couldn’t imagine this easygoing guy as some sort of sexual dominant.
“Sadism? Is this sadism?” She pointed to the about-to-be-impaled balls.
“Some would say it was. In this case it’s all part of the foot fetish.”
Addie slapped the book closed, shoved it into Lane’s lap and stood. “That’s fine and I hope he’s happy living with one cojone, but I don’t know anything about this freaky sex stuff.”
“Nothing?” Lane raised one eyebrow and half-smiled. “No one knows nothing about it.”
“Letting a boyfriend tie me up isn’t the same as that. And I’m not into sadism.”
“You just admitted you don’t even know what it means.”
“Exactly. You all saw those pictures and thought I was some little thing who liked getting told what to do.” Addie put her hand on her hip and met Lane’s gaze. This time she refused to look away. “I’m no submissive.”
Lane set the book down in the chair she’d vacated. “Can we back up a second? First, will you agree that this isn’t porn?”
“Fine. It’s not porn. The photographs are beautiful.”
“Good. Would you like to know why Helen called you, when she knew—she did check—that you weren’t active in the BDSM scene?”
“Yes, I would.”
Lane stretched out one leg, propped an elbow on the other. “The BDSM project is going to follow one woman, beautiful and sexy of course, as she’s introduced to BDSM and all its variations and ways to play.
“Helen called you because you aren’t a professional and because you don’t know much about it. The photographer will capture your reactions as you’re introduced to each new experience.”
What he was describing sounded strangely beautiful. It was a trap.
“But those photos would be of me having sex with a bunch of guys, I’m not—”
“No.” He raised his hand. “There would be no sex. No kissing. Physical contact, definitely, and you would have to be naked and be touched sexually by the men, by me.”
He held her gaze, letting that sink in. Addie looked at his hands. There were nice hands, with neatly trimmed nails. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering this…but she was.
“Physical contact…leaves you a lot of options. In my world, men respect and treasure women, they don’t beat them up.”
“You wouldn’t be beat up here either. Spanked?” Lane looked her up and down…slowly. The teasing, playful man who’d barged in was disappearing with each breath. He was shedding the sheep’s clothing to reveal the wolf. “Possibly.”
“But that would hurt. Why would I agree to it?”
“You don’t seem like the kind of woman who’s afraid of a little pain, or who doesn’t know how to see the beauty and pleasure in things other people find strange.”
He was right. She didn’t have to admit it though. “You know me now?”
“No.” Lane was off the ottoman and stalking toward her so fast Addie didn’t have time to think about her reaction. She backed up, fight or flight responses engaged. Her back hit the wall a split second before he was on her, looming over her.
He pinched the fabric of her robe between index finger and thumb and pulled it off one shoulder. The silk slithered down, catching on the tie around her waist. Addie gasped, the inhale causing her breasts to brush his chest. Addie, who prided herself on always being in control of herself, had no control as Lane caged her with his body, his presence.
Tracing the back of his hand down her bare arm, over the pool of fabric at her elbow, he circled her wrist in his hand.
Inch by inch he lifted her arm, drawing it above her head and pressing the back of her wrist against the wall. He studied her for a moment, eyes darkening.
“I don’t know you, Addie Sanchez.” He dipped his head, lips millimeters from the corner of her mouth. “But I’d like to.”
And then he was gone.