Page 37 of Country Contract

More than that, the kind of spark I felt in the buildup and that one kiss with Harrison is worth exploring before I sell my body to another man. Heath is trying to be a good man, trying to show me he’s interested in me as a person. Trying to get to know me and build something from a business deal. I appreciate that, but will passion grow there?

My fingers type furiously across my laptop keyboard, making quick work out of the scribbles I wrote down earlier. This might not be a forever thing, but there is something cathartic about handwriting my thoughts out. Some of them are hard to make out—scribbled feelings and running visions. I’m surprised at how well it all flows given its state.

What surprises me the most is the genre. I always saw myself writing something dark and mysterious. Thrillers, mysteries, maybe touches offantasy here and there, but erotica? That wasn’t something Isaw myself writing. It also wasn’t something I often read. I often bought books that had touches of closed-door romance, thinking they held more substance. Writing this now, I think I was sorely mistaken. This has plenty of substance.

That kiss.

I brush my finger over my bruised lips, thinking about the intensity that one kiss had. The burn of his stubble against my skin. The sounds he made and the way they turned me on.

I look over to the wall where Harrison had me pinned.

“Stop me, Harlow.”

I press my legs together and feel the pressure build between them. I want release. I want more.

The way he pressed his hard mouth to mine and demanded my submission. His lips felt so unrelenting. His jaw tight. I thought for sure it was bound to be an awful kiss, but it wasn’t. It was so much more. When I foughtback, he only stood taller and pressed me further. He tested me and earned his way into my mouth. When I sank my teeth into his bottom lip, I could tell he loved it by the way he groaned.

He was a kid in my eyes. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A young buck, as they say out here. I remember being younger and the boys I dated having tons of energy . . . and stamina. The thought of a sleepless night causes me to rub my legs against each other, creating light friction.

The kiss ended abruptly, and I was left disappointed. Harrison pulled away from me the minute he realized I was willing to push the envelope. When I fit myself over one of his legs and ground down on him, it was like a light switched off for him. He pulled away, apologized, and rushed out the door. The flush on his cheekbones was unforgettable.

For me, it was like a light switched on, reminding me that I was still a sexual being. I remember people talking about women hitting their sexual prime in their thirties, and I thought I had hit mine early. In my early twenties, I matched and even surpassed some of my partners’ libidos, then later this tapered down.

I enjoyed more than just sexual encounters and looked for a deeper connection.

Where Harrison was concerned, it was all sexualenergy. Charged up and begging to be released. Once he left, it was like all that sexual energy needed to be put down on paper.

I can’t believe how much I’ve already written and that it’s in a genre so outside of my usual taste. What’s even stranger is the specific content I was writing: BDSM erotica.

Typing up the scribble in combination with my recentmemories of Harrison has me dying to release this built-up tension once and for all.

Grabbing my phone and stalking over to the kitchen, I open a small package of catnip for Cleo.Once she’s settled on the couch, I head upstairs to the bedroom. Searching through my bedside table, I grab a lovely silicone rose. She’s built for the kind of activities I have planned, always ready to provide me with the release I need.

A little research to help with this new genre of writing may be beneficial, too. With my phone, I start searching for some BDSM content . . . for research.

At first, I find some pretty heavy stuff—videos that make my eyes go wide and my brows shoot up to my forehead. Then, I stumble upon a group of videos of this woman, Lady V. She looks to be in her late thirties and the man she is partnered with is younger. He’s exquisite: lean, built, and hung. I read through the summary of some of their clips and settle on a submission and praise play. The description alone has caught my attention.

She’s curvy with icy blonde hair and nude-painted lips. She has dark mascara painted on her lashes with a beautiful and dramatic smokey eye. Her nails are well-manicured, painted black, and pointed at the tip. Then I notice the middle and ring fingers on her right hand are manicured and painted but cut shorter and rounded.

Interesting.

She’s sitting in a wingback chair wearing a lace lingerie set, legs crossed with strappy heels on her feet.

“Come.” Her voice is husky, with a hint of an accent.

The man—wearing only tight boxer briefs—crawls to her feet, stops, and kneels in front of her.

“Take offmy shoes.”

He goes to move his hands but is stopped by one tilt of her head.

“How would you like me to remove them, my lady?” he asks, voice so soft.

“With your mouth.”

Immediately he goes to the strap at her inner ankle and works to unbuckle it with his mouth. I wished they zoomed in for this. She watches with admiration as he attempts; it seems that he occasionally nips at her skin because she will pull her foot away.

“Careful,” she warns.

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